Bomb Shelter
by InTheNameOfAsgard
Summary: "They'll worry. They'll cry. They'll wonder where you are. But in a matter of months, no one will care about you. You'll be forgotten. Out of my life forever." Cartman carelessly let Kyle's body drop to the floor, and moved to his backpack, packing up his things. "And I'll enjoy every bit of peace I get after you're gone." (Stan x Kyle Fic. I don't own any of the characters! :3)
1. Chapter 1

**Bomb Shelter**

Heavy, swift footsteps echoed through the street of the empty neighborhood, as Eric Cartman quickly made his way down the darkened sidewalk. The crisp, cool night air harshly bit at his flushed, uncovered face, but he ignored the freeze. It was the middle of winter, and it was best to stay indoors if you wanted to be warm. But with his usual heavy red coat, thick blue beanie, and baggy leather pants, he considered himself warm enough. Besides, he didn't imagine he'd be outside too long.

His coffee-colored eyes flicked back and fourth, as he peered through the dark. The all-too-familiar neighborhood was only barely lit by the spaced streetlights, and even their glow was dim in the chill of the winter weather. The poles the lights were connected to looked cold enough to actually cause _harm _if you touched it. It wouldn't be surprising if it actually did inflict some pain. It was always especially cold during the winters in Colorado... and even especially in South Park, a small, remote town that resided in the mountains.

Cartman's pace began to slow as he neared his destination. Through the dark of the night, he could see the darkened green tint of the large house that held the nice, little, unsuspecting Jewish family. The windows were darkened, indicating that the lights were off, and that the residents of the humble, warm dwelling had already made their journeys' to their beds, where they'd sleep the night away and loose themselves in the realistic thoughts of their unconsciousness. So innocent. So peaced. And so... so unaware of a young catholic boy's intentions.

If it was at all possible for someone the size of Cartman, the youth's steps became absolutely silent as a pair of feet lifted themselves upon the front steps of the large green house. A gloved hand came and gently clasped itself against the doorknob. The hand twisted the knob, but the knob hit a stop half way through it's turn. That was expected. Most in the town of South Park were wise to keep their houses locked, in the hopes that they'd keep themselves away from the ridiculous events that usually took place in the small mountain town. Still, Cartman knew it didn't hurt to check and see if the door was even locked in the first place. He would have felt silly, trying to pick the lock if the door had already been undone.

Cartman gently, silently, slid his bright yellow backpack off of his shoulders, and rested it beside the door. His wrists flicked this way and that as his hands quickly moved; unzipping the backpack and diving into the biggest pocket to collect what he needed. In a matter of moments, he held his mother's credit card in his left hand. His mother was far too deep beneath the surface of unconsciousness to notice her son sneak in and steal her card from her bedside table. Not that she'd miss it. When she'd wake, she'd find it upon the nightstand, where she had left it the night before.

Gently, Cartman raised his hand and slipped the card in the crack between the door and the wall, where he knew the lock would lay. With another push and the flick of his wrist, the door opened, making the faintest of creaking noises as it did. Cartman had broken into the Broflovski household many a time, and each time, he was reminded of how odd it was for a Jewish house to have a lock that was so easy to break open. Especially a _front door_. But he couldn't think about that now. Most times he broke in for fun, but tonight meant business. Tonight could change the way his life would go. Tonight could change the way the town functioned. Tonight meant _everything_.

Sliding the straps of his backpack over his shoulders again, Cartman slowly pushed open the door. The door creaked and squeaked as it was pushed open... but as stated before, Cartman had broken into the Jewish home many times before, and he was more than confident that the residents of the green-painted dwelling were too heavy of sleepers to hear their door opening at night. ...Though... now that he thought about it, the brunette supposed it wouldn't hurt to remind Mr. Broflovski that his hinges needed to be oiled. It would make things a little easier for everyone.

Cartman slipped past the entry way, but instead of closing the door, he left it ajar and made his way across the living-room. The largest room in the house was neat and spotless, not a single mess or object broken in sight. Unlike Cartman's house, which, by the end of the day, had a couch covered in empty Snaky-Poof bags and soda cans.

Cartman began to descend up the stairs of the house. Luckily for him, none of the steps whined or creaked like the door did. His own footsteps were still silent as his feet gracefully glided across the darkened carpeting. He rested his left hand on the rail beside him as he climbed up the stairs, his hand sliding across the smooth, polished wood. On the wall to his right, there were several pictures of the Broflovski family, all with smiling faces and colorful back-rounds. Some were family portraits, others were taken at what appeared to be a beach and a forest. The Broflovski family loved to go swimming and camping during the summers.

Once Cartman reached the top of the stairs, he didn't need to look where he was going, to know where Kyle's room was. He had crossed the hallway many times. He knew that in ten steps, he'd be in the center of the hall, and five steps to the left, he'd be at his victim's door. And that's exactly where he found himself in a matter of fifteen steps.

Cartman, now on a new level of caution (for he knew his victim was a light and alert sleeper), gently opened the door and slipped through the entry-way. He was immediately greeted by the familiar dark brown wallpaper and the _Go Cows _poster on the other side of the room. Cartman rolled his eyes and almost _sneered _at the decor of his enemy's living space. While it had that hint of boyishness to it, it was also insanely Jewish-looking, a taste that Cartman didn't care for much.

His eyes scanned the room, but to his own impatience, he shifted his gaze to the small, one-person bed. There, bundled under at least three covers (that was necessary, since it was very, _very_ cold), lay the person that Cartman hated with every little piece of his being.

Kyle Broflovski.

Not so much as a snore came from Kyle (unlike Cartman, who was a very heavy and loud sleeper), although his body was twitching, giving off the impression that he was dreaming. This brought a little bit of relief to Cartman. The Jew was still a light sleeper, but he was in a heavier sleep than usual. Just the sight of his victim forced the thoughts of the future event into Cartman's mind. His thin lips slowly turned upward into a small smirk, which couldn't be seen through the darkness. With gentle steps, Cartman made his way across the room, and to Kyle's beside. The young Jewish male didn't detect Cartman's presence, instead, self-consciously fisted one of his small hands into his curly red hair. His lips moved together as he mumbled an incoherent sentence. Cartman watched his enemy for a moment, his own brow lifting as he pondered exactly how deep of a sleep the Jersey-boy could be in. He didn't know Kyle was one to talk in his sleep.

Cartman quickly shook his head, clearing his mind of the questioning thoughts, as he slid his backpack off of his shoulders, and rested it against the floor. He tore his eyes away from Kyle, and to the bag, as he again, unzipped the zipper and began digging around through the biggest pocket. Slowly, he began to unpack the things he had brought. The first thing to leave his bag was the credit-card, but that was to just get out of the way. The next thing was a giant bag, which he had neatly folded into a small square that could, luckily, fit inside his pack. He lay the folded square beside the pack, and then dug through the bag again. He quickly found the little bottle he had brought with him, and only a few seconds after, the cloth. Cartman peered through the dark, looking to his current weapon. Another smirk spread across his face, and he couldn't help but darkly chuckle.

His eyes widened. Woops.

There was a gasp from the bed, and Cartman's head snapped to the right, just in enough time to see Kyle's eyes flash open. The Jew looked directly at Cartman and pulled himself into a sitting position. His emerald-hued stare burned right into Cartman's soul as the Jewish boy began to register just exactly _who _was in his room.

After several moments of silence, and several long, tired blinks, Kyle's brows knitted together in a glare.

"Cartman!" He growled. "What are you do-...mpph!"

Cartman was quick to cut the Jew off, his left hand grabbing Kyle's wrists, while his right pressed the now liquid-covered cloth to his mouth. The green-eyed youth thrashed at first, wiggling back and fourth as he tried to free himself from Cartman's grasp. But the fumes were too much for the Jew to handle, and within seconds, he was out again, his head hitting the pillow with a soft _thud_.

Cartman, again, gave a sigh of relief and took the cloth away from Kyle's mouth. He threw the cloth to the ground, and neatly placed the now opened bottle atop it, before snatching up the folded bag. He began to unfold it, and while he did, continued to send Kyle little smirks, or little glares.

"You thought you were so funny today, didn't you Kahl?" His voice was soft, careful not to awaken the other residents of the household. His tone was laced with irritation, yet also held that sly sound that he always had when he was up to something. "You thought you bested Eric Cartman. Humiliated him. Thought for certain that he'd leave you alone."

The brunette stood and roughly grabbed Kyle's unconscious body, and began to slip the youth into the life-sized bag.

"Well I am done with your games, you fucking Jew-rat!" The boy softly snarled, glaring at Kyle's face, watching as it disappeared under the fold of the bag. "I enjoyed having you around. Having a Jew to torture and make fun of. But you crossed the damned line today, Keyl." Kyle's body disappeared inside the bag. Cartman reached into his yellow pack and pulled out a bit of rope, and began to tie the opening of the bag shut. "They'll worry. They'll cry. They'll wonder where you are. But in a matter of months, no one will care about you. You'll be forgotten. Out of _my _life forever."

Cartman carelessly let Kyle's body drop to the floor, and moved to his backpack, packing up his things. He moved quickly.

"And I'll enjoy every bit of peace I get after you're gone."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Kyle was heavier than Cartman had imagined he would be. The body-filled bag lay heavily in the brunette's arms, only making the youth wish that he could give into the demands of his screaming muscles and take the weight off of his bones. But he couldn't. He was already in phase two of his plan, and he wasn't about to give up his whole scheme, because his arms were a little tired.

In the bag, Kyle was silent. His chest slowly rose and fell with deep, calm breaths. His mind was still buried deep within the waves of unconsciousness, but Cartman knew it wouldn't be long before he woke. He had to act quickly, or his whole plan could fail.

With each step, Cartman's feet sunk under the snow. If he hadn't been smart and worn the boots his mother had bought him only several days ago, he was sure his feet would be like the state of the skin on his face; terribly frozen. The youth shivered, his white lips never ceasing in their quivering. Above him, tiny snowflakes gently descended from the sky, throwing themselves to the ground, and blending in with the rest of the snow-covered bank. Cartman usually loved the snow, but as of now, he found it completely annoying and unnecessary.

"Fucking ginger, making me hate the snow..." Cartman spat softly, sending a quick glance to the figure underneath the fold of the bag. "This is all your fault. If you had just shut your damned pie-hole today during school, none of this would be happening."

There was no reply. Cartman was greeted by silence. The brunette sighed, but it was more of happiness than annoyance now. Usually, Kyle would have shot him a rude remark, or an insult. Perhaps comment on his weight, or his lack of intelligence. But there was nothing. Just sweet, sweet silence. And Cartman loved every single moment of it.

"I'm not gonna kill you," Cartman looked away from the bag now, and up to where he was going. Ahead of him, there were a few houses placed here and there, but besides that, it was mostly empty mountain space. There were no streetlights, which made it nearly impossible for the boy to see. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Kalh. I'd love to kill you. You're just like the rest of the Jesus-killing Jew-rats. And even after today, I really, _really _want to kill you."

The teenager ground his teeth at the thought of the event that took place during school earlier that day. The one that made Kyle seem like a hilarious genius. The one that made Cartman seem like a complete idiot. He was humiliated. Slowly, he shut the eyes, and forced the memory to the back of his mind. There'd be plenty of the time to think about that later. Now, he had to concentrate on the task at hand.

"But killing you would be too _good_ for you, Kahl." Cartman continued on with his one-sided conversation, his tone kept soft. "Burning in a lake of fire in Hell with Satan seems a bit too good for you. So I'm going to do something else to you. You... you stupid Jew... I'm going to make sure you're miserable for the rest of your life. ...However much longer that may be, honestly."

Cartman looked around, his eyes narrowing in a squint, as he tried to spot the house he was looking for. He had only visited his location once or twice... one of those visits being for a similar reason. His eyes gently darted back and fourth, peering through the tiny snowflakes as he looked for any sign of the only slightly familiar residence.

Finally, his eyes locked upon one house in particular. Cartman's thin lips slowly curved upward into a triumphant smirk. "Ah, here we are..." His tone got even softer, though his pace picked up as he began to head toward his wanted destination. "Stan's Uncle Jimbo's house."

There was still silence from the bag. ...Which was a good thing. Of 'course it was a good thing. Cartman had to keep reminding himself that. He wasn't used to the Jew being so... quiet. Even if they only hardly ever exchanged normal conversations, Kyle was usually talking to Stan or Kenny. ...Or to himself, but that was only once in a while, and for a short period of time.

"I hear Jimbo and Ned went to Denver for a couple weeks," Cartman explained to the unconscious red-head as he neared Jimbo's house. "Believe it or not, Jimbo's thinking of moving there. And I think Ned's just going because... well, I'm not really sure why." Cartman admitted. "That dude's always following Jimbo around. ...But the point is, the house will be empty for quite a while."

The front door was only several feet away, now. But Cartman wasn't going to enter the house itself. Nope. Instead, he quickly turned and began to move to the side of the house. His steps in the snow made soft noises, but not loud enough to attract anything that could have been inside or around the house. Cartman took caution as he walked, his head tilted downward, his brown eyes scanning left and right, looking for anything he could have stepped on or tripped on that would cause noise. Even if no one was at the house... he didn't really want to be caught doing what he was doing.

"Remember the time you had your birthday at Casabonita?" Cartman asked the unconscious boy. "You invited Butters, but I wanted to go, so I got rid of him. You found out later, of 'course, but I still had my fun at the restaurant."

A faint smile spread across Cartman's already smirking lips, as he remembered himself tearing through the building, taking other people's chips and diving into the pool from atop the waterfall... all while being chased by the police.

"Anyway, you discovered it was I, who was responsible for Butter's absence." Cartman explained. "But, I doubt you truly know what I did to Butters."

There was no reply. Cartman, again, reminded himself that the lack of response from the unconscious Jewish boy was a good thing. He wasn't dead. Just unconscious. And it was finally peace for Cartman's poor ears.

"He was eventually moved to a dump, but before that, I put him in Jimbo's bomb-shelter. There was only a little bit of space, but there was plenty of food for him to eat. Food that could have lasted a couple years, actually." Cartman remembered what the inside of the bomb-shelter looked like. It had been so many years ago. "But he was alone, Keyl. So very alone..." Cartman, though he wanted to smirk down at Kyle, continued to look straight ahead and turned the corner of the house. In Jimbo's back yard, there were a couple trees, plants, shovels, and... the entrance to the bomb shelter.

"And that's exactly what I'm going to do to you, Jew-boy.

"I admit, it's kind of... out of character for me." Cartman gave a slight sigh. "I could have just ground your parents up into chilli and fed them to you as revenge. Or given you a laxative-filled cupcake. Or gave you AIDs. ...Or gone into your room and torn the head off of one of _your _stuffed animals..." Cartman frowned at that last one, remembering Clyde Frog, one of his beloved stuffed animals. "But I've decided that any of those are too good for you, Jew."

In a matter of moments, Cartman had reached the entrance of the bomb-shelter. He dropped Kyle upon the ground, and gave a relieved sigh when he heard no grunt of pain that would have given away that the youth was actually awake. Slipping past the bag-covered body, Cartman made his way to the bomb-shelter. The top of the shelter – the handle of the shelter – was just a giant metal lid, with a twistable handle at the top. Cartman eyed the handle, taking note of the slippery surface, the bars caked with ice and snow. Rubbing his mitten-covered hands together, Cartman reached forward and took hold of the bars. Fortunately for him, the lid didn't take much force or strength before it popped open. Cartman gave another smirk of triumph and pulled open the slid, watching as it rose all the way up, and then stayed there. Cartman turned back now, and, to the protest of the muscles in his arms, scooped up Kyle's still unconscious body, and looked down into the bomb-shelter. There was a long latter that descended into the underground, where the little room with all the food was stored. The youth's brows kitted together in a concentrated frown. Slowly, he lifted his arms up, and hoisted Kyle over his shoulder. Struggling, but with amazing effort, Cartman held Kyle's bagged body with one hand, and began to climb down the latter. Every time his wet, snow-covered boot hit one of the bars of the latter, he slipped, and gave himself a mini-heart attack. Thoughts of slipping and falling to his death weren't very appealing to the brunette. He just wanted to put Kyle in the shelter, and then leave.

"Loneliness often drives a man insane, Kahl." Cartman informed the unconscious body, with a exhausted, concentrated grunt in his town. He carefully took another step down, and to his relief, didn't slip. "It can drive a man to suicide, even. So what I'm hoping, is that you'll get so lonely, with no one to save you or keep you company, that you'll find some way to kill yourself, and end your own life." Cartman gave a sly smile. "Because no one will be coming for you, Kahl. You see, I've arranged for Jimbo to stumble upon a house in Denver that I _know _he'll love. And when he gets back here, he'll be so busy trying to get the house, and of 'course going to the bar and having goodbye parties with his friends, that he'll forget that he ever even had a bomb-shelter."

Cartman took another step, slipped slightly, but held on tight. Once he knew he was set, he took yet another step, edging closer and closer to the end of the latter.

"When we left your house earlier, Keyl," Cartman mumbled. "I left a note for your parents, explaining that you were extremely unhappy with your current life, and that you've run away to fulfill your life-long dream of joining the circus. Your parents will be so busy trying to find you at different circus areas, that they won't even think to check around town, and see if you're still anywhere around."

Cartman, for the third time that night, gave another triumphant smirk as he felt the bottom of his shoe hit the solid floor of the bomb shelter. Gently, Cartman lifted the body off of his shoulder, and rested it against the ground. He moved quickly now, untying the ropes around Kyle's feet, and pulling the bag away from his body.

There Kyle lay, still breathing, but unconscious, laying against the cold ground in his Terrance and Phillip pajamas. His body lightly shook from the cold. Cartman knew it wouldn't be long before the Jew woke from the lack of warmth. He'd most likely think about where he was, try to get out, and after an hour of doing that, fetch a blanket and plan his escape.

But there would be no escape. Not this time. Cartman's plan was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Nothing could get in his way, now. He continued smirking down at Kyle, his eyes lit with pleased victory. He could just imagine the ginger-rat several days from now; crying because he was lonely and wanted to go home. It filled Cartman with so much sick pleasure, he almost found it unbearable. Nothing could go wrong now. Everything was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"Cartman?" Or maybe not.

Cartman's eyes grew wide, and his jaw dropped while he sucked in a startled breath. He turned around, and tilted his head upward, peering toward the top of the bomb shelter. On the outside, there was the silhouette of a person. A young person. Cartman could tell by the figure of the body. If it wasn't for the poof-ball hat that made the mystery obvious, Cartman would have been irritated to admit that he had no idea who was up there.

"S-Stan!" Cartman's words began to stumble. "A-Ah! Oho, uh... Hey, dude! What, uh... what are you doing here?"

Stan was hesitant on replying. Cartman could tell he was trying to look beyond the male. Look to the body behind him. Cartman only hoped to God that Kyle's body was safely hidden behind him.

"My Uncle Jimbo is out of town, and he said he'd give me twenty bucks to watch his house."

"Whohoa, dude! Twenty bucks? To watch a house? That's kickass!"

"Yeah..." Stan mumbled. He sounded uncertain, his tone laced with confusion. Cartman didn't have to look hard enough to know that Stan was raising his eyebrow at the sight before him. His friend in his Uncle's bomb-shelter. Yeah, that was normal.

"So, why are you in my Uncle's bomb-shelter, Cartman?"

Cartman's lips parted to reply, but he almost went at a loss for words, as he watched Stan turn around, and begin to climb down the latter. Cartman's eyes widened further than they already were, and he looked behind himself, to the unconscious, completely silent Kyle behind him. There was no way Cartman could hide the Jew. He'd have to make up a lie. Lies were the best things. They always got him out of trouble.

"Well..." Cartman looked back to Stan, watching (with just a tad bit of amazement) as Stan gracefully descended the latter, not once tripping from the snow under his wet shoes. "Kyle texted me, and told me to meet him here."

"Really? Kyle did?" Stan tried to look over his shoulder as he spoke.

"Yeah, I was pretty confused too, but, umm..." Cartman looked to Kyle again, and then to Stan. "Umm... he... was unconscious when I got here. And he's in his pajamas..."

"What?!"

Stan moved much quicker now, his slim, lean body nearly sliding down the latter. He landed on the ground with a soft _thud_, and turned around. His eyes flicked to Cartman, but then quickly darted to Kyle's limp, unconscious figure on the ground. Instant worry flooded in his gaze, and before Cartman's mind even registered that Stan was moving, the raven-haired teen was at his best friend's side, kneeling in front of him. One hand was placed on Kyle's shoulder as he gently shook him.

"Kyle? Kyle, can you here me?" He asked. No response. Kyle was off. Stan looked at Kyle a moment longer, before turning to look at Cartman. "Is he okay?" He asked.

Cartman tried to hide his nervousness and lightly shrugged. "I dunno, dude. Like, I just got here."

"Well... we should do something! He might be hurt, or... or something!" Stan hurriedly pulled Kyle into his arms. He pressed the back of his hand against the Jew's forehead, as if trying to feel his temperature. "He's freezing..." The youth noted aloud.

Cartman slowly began to back away. "Well... Maybe I should go and call someone..."

"Wait..." Stan's tone was, again, uncertain. He became slightly hesitant once more, and Cartman watched with absolute dread as Stan leaned into Kyle and took a breath. "Cartman... I think he was drugged..." Stan's head turned to the left, and, for the first time since he'd entered the bomb shelter, he noticed the bag and the rope. "Cartman...?"

Cartman quickly turned and began to climb up the latter. He tried to be quiet, hoping to sneak away before Stan turned to look at him again, and notice he was taking his leave. It would only be a few moments before Stan put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"Cartman... did you... did you _drug _Kyle and drag him here in a bag? ...Cartman? Hey! Cartman!"

"Ah... G-Gotta go, Stan! My Mom wanted me home by eleven. It's eleven-thirty...!" Cartman nearly squeaked as he made his way up the latter. All he could think was _Gogogogogogogogogo_! Go, before Stan grabs you and makes you explain what was going on!

"Cartman, come back here!"

There was the sound of shuffling following Stan's voice, but Cartman didn't dare take the risk of turning around to look, and slowing himself down. Trying his best not to slip, he reached the top of the bomb-shelter, and stumbled onto the cold snow. He then turned again, and clasped his hands on the metal handle of the bomb shelter's lid.

"CARTMAN! DON'T YOU DARE CLOSE THAT FUCKING LID!"

Cartman ignored Stan's screaming demand and pulled the lid shut. The last thing he heard from the raven-haired boy was his protesting scream, before the lid connected with the other part of the bomb-shelter, and latched into place. Cartman stumbled backwards and tripped, giving a light yelp as his ass landed into the snow. He watched the lid with wide eyes, hearing just the faintest of banging sounds. He could picture Stan on the other side, throwing his fists against the cold metal lid, demanding that Cartman open it up and let them free.

This was wrong.

He meant to lock just Kyle in the bomb shelter. Not both Kyle _and _Stan. Though he hated Stan almost as much as he hated Kyle, he knew Stan didn't _deserve _to be locked away and forgotten about. But what else could he do? If he released Stan, he'd also be releasing Kyle. And that no-good filthy Jew-rat deserved to rot in loneliness. ...But he wasn't lonely. Not anymore. Nope. Now, he had Stan. And together, killing themselves would take much, _much _longer.

"God damn it. This was a horrible idea." Cartman muttered to himself, eyes still fixed on the lid of the bomb shelter. It was easier getting dumbass Butters into the bomb shelter. There were no problems like this. But Kyle and Stan? This was ridiculous. This was probably one of Cartman's worst ideas ever.

"Ah... damn it." Cartman muttered. Slowly, he let his hand sink into the snow as he struggled to lift himself off the ground. When he was finally standing, be brushed the dirt off of himself, and looked to the shelter again. The banging had stopped, and all that greeted him now, was silence.

"Sorry, Stan." Cartman whispered an honest apology. "But I can't risk myself getting in trouble. I could be grounded for five... maybe six days. I just... can't take that risk." Cartman slowly turned, and, with one last look at the bomb-shelter, began to walk away.

"I'll make sure your family knows you went to join the circus."

**Thank you for reading! Finally, Stan is here! Took him a while, didn't it? I tried to keep all the characters in-character, which is a hard thing for someone like me to do. XD Anyway, if you enjoyed, leave a review! I'm happy to take suggestions, and more than happy to hear what you have to say about the story. You can find the DeviantART version of this fic on my DA account: TheRainbowFlag. Thanks all! ^-^**

**I do not own any of the mentioned characters. They were created and owned by Matt Stone and Trey Parker.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: The following chapter contains heavy offensive language, and may not be suitable for sensitive readers. If you're not used to the South Park humor and/or don't like it, then please don't read this fan fiction. If you are not a fan of Yaoi or this particular pairing, then please don't read this Fan Fiction. If you're a perfectionist who insists that the author must get absolutely everything right or it's the end of the world, then PLEASE don't read this fan fiction. XD **

**I do not own any of the mentioned characters. All characters belong to Trey Parker and Matt Stone. **

**Chapter Three**

"Cartman! Cartman, you asshole! Open the door!"

The familiar, frantic-sounding voice bounced off the walls of the redhead's mind as he slowly began to come to. His head whirled, aching, and bringing on a dizzy sensation that often left the boy vomiting and passing out. He could never really take head-aches well. But the question was... why had it formed?

"Augh, that son of a bitch! I knew he was up to something, when I saw him walking through the backyard." The voice, which seemed to be growing closer and closer to the waking boy, grumbled grumpily. His tone was followed by an irritated huff. "God damn it, Cartman."

"...Stan?"

Kyle managed to croak out his friend's name as he began to slip into the world of consciousness. His head began to ache less, but there was still that dizzy sensation that left him feeling sick. Just speaking made him want to throw up. Just what the Hell had happened to him?! And with Stan's rant, he knew Cartman had something to do with it. ...Of 'course he did. That fatass was always causing trouble for Kyle. Most of his mischief toward the Jewish boy was because of the redhead's religion. Or sometimes, Cartman was just bored, and wanted to have some fun. Or sometimes... his acts of trouble was for revenge.

All at once, memories from the day before began to wash into Kyle's head. Standing at the bus stop in the morning. Then sitting in Mr. Garrison's stupid History class, where all he talked about were sexy men and boring reality TV shows (how the Hell had be not been caught by the Principal after all these years?). Then during lunch. Oh, yes. Kyle could remember it now. He remembered feeling so God-damned alive and _happy_, watching the whole cafeteria laugh at Cartman, while the racist asshole angrily shifted from one foot to the other. Oh, it was amazing. It was priceless. To put the douche-bag in such a position. ...He'd admit it. What he did was mean. But the no-good Jew-hating unintelligent dick deserved it, after all the shit that he had put Kyle and the others through. He imagined Cartman would try to bring on revenge (after he'd gone home and cried to his new stuffed animals, of 'course). Perhaps he'd just pull another sick joke, like he had all the other times that someone managed to piss him off. Oh, there were so many options Cartman could choose from to absolutely _ruin_ Kyle. And Kyle knew this. But what had be done _this _time?

Kyle's eyes slowly began to fall open, allowing the world around him to seep into his vision. At first, everything was a blur. It was too dark to see most of where he was, and it was very... very cold. He hadn't realized how cold he was, until he noticed his body shaking under the thin layer of pajamas he wore. Goosebumps trailed along his skin, pricking at his arms and legs.

It wasn't until after a couple of big blinks, and the rub of his hand, that Kyle's blurred vision finally cleared. Slowly (very slowly, since his head hurt like a bitch), Kyle began to raise himself up into a sitting position. His hand rested against the cold, solid ground as he pulled himself up. By the feel of the ground, he could note that he wasn't outside. The ground was freezing, yes, but not covered in snow or dirt.

"Kyle! You're awake!"

Kyle nearly jumped at Stan's eager tone. He'd forgotten his friend was there. The redhead slowly lifted his head to cast his gaze in the raven-haired boy's direction. As his head moved, his curly red locks fell over his face. He gave an irritated frown and brushed the hair away, but they only fell over his green eyes again.

"Yeah... yeah, I'm awake." Kyle spoke tiredly. Through the darkness, he could see Stan's figure walking closer to him. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his coat, hidden from the cold of the outside world. Kyle eyed Stan's coat, wishing he had his own at that moment. Shivering and freezing was not something Kyle liked.

"Cartman's a fucking asshole, dude." Stan grumbled. Kyle raised an eyebrow as the youth plopped down beside him.

"I'm aware that Cartman's an asshole." Kyle reminded his best friend, his tone a little less tired-sounding than before. "Where are we? Did Cartman put us here?"

"We're in my Uncle Jimbo's bomb shelter." Stan informed the redhead. "Cartman carried you here in a bag. I think he drugged you."

Kyle frowned lightly, and tried to remember whatever event that took place, where Cartman would have drugged him. He remembered his parents reminding him that they'd be going to work early, and wouldn't come back home until later that evening. Then he remembered crawling into the bed, and kind of falling asleep, but... he didn't remember seeing Cartman, or being drugged.

"That seems like something Cartman would do." Kyle finally answered Stan. "But I don't remember him drugging me." "Well, I think he did." Stan replied. Through the dark, Kyle could just barely see his silhouette leaning forward to grab something. In a matter of moments, Kyle felt a giant sack plop in his lap. "I think Cartman drugged you, put you in a bag, tied you up, and then dragged you here."

Kyle tried to see the bag through the darkness. He ran his cold, bare hands over the material of the cloth. It wasn't a plastic bag (thank God), but it was the kind of material that was prickly and unpleasant. Like a rough rope. It was big enough to fit an adult inside, and Kyle had no doubt that Stan was right. Cartman must of drug him, stuck him inside a bag, and planned to trap him inside Stan's Uncle Jimbo's bomb shelter. The only thing that didn't make sense, was why Stan was here with him.

"Why are _you _here?" Kyle asked, tilting his head up to try to look at his friend again. "Did he throw you in a bag and drag you here too?"

"No, I'm house-sitting for my Uncle while he's out in Denver for a couple weeks." Stan replied. "I saw Cartman walking in the backyard, and then going into the Bomb-Shelter. So I got dressed and followed him. And..."

There was a gasping sound from Stan, and Kyle nearly (again) jumped as Stan's figure launched up in the darkness, and began to run for the latter.

"Stan?" Kyle asked, obvious worry lingering in his voice. He began to pull himself to his feet. "Stan? Hey, what's wrong?"

"My Uncle Jimbo!" Stan gasped. "He only left a couple days ago! He won't be here for weeks, dude! We're going to be trapped in here for _weeks_!"

Kyle began to walk toward the latter, though he stopped as he heard Stan begin to bang on the door of the shelter.

"Hey! Let us out of here, you fatass!" Stan's voice sounded from the top of the bomb shelter. "Son of a bitch! You can't just leave us here for weeks! God damn it, Cartman!"

"Dude, Stan, calm down!" Kyle called up to his friend. "I'm sure people will notice we're missing, and go looking for us. Think about it, Stan. We won't show up at school today. The Principal will call our parents, wondering where we are. When they all realize we're missing, they'll go out looking. They usually result to looking in bomb shelters. Remember when Cartman did this to Butters? We all started looking in places like this. We'll be found by the end of tonight. Or maybe tomorrow."

"Think about it, Kyle." Stan called back down to his friend. He continued to pound away at the cold metal door. "Cartman wanted you to be here. He's obviously going to have some kind of story made up for you, so that people won't go looking. And if they did, they certainly wouldn't be looking in the spot that Cartman wanted to put you." The banging finally stopped, and Kyle could see Stan's body begin to descend the latter. "We're locked inside here. I don't think there's another way out. I think... I think we're fucked."

"But that doesn't make sense, Stan." Kyle tried to keep his voice calm, though his growing worry was noticeable. "I mean, it seems too... out of character for Cartman, you know? Throwing us into a bomb-shelter for a couple days... or maybe even a week does sound like something he would do, but... I would expect him to make this a bigger deal than it is. He usually explains his plans to us. He usually wants a reaction." Kyle frowned lightly. "It isn't like him to just dump us somewhere and leave."

"Maybe there's more to this." Stan was on the ground now, his footsteps growing closer and closer as he made his way toward Kyle. "Maybe he's going to do something worse later. Maybe he's just saving seeing our reaction, until he's finally completed whatever big thing he was going for."

"Now _that _sounds like Cartman." Kyle mumbled. "I don't expect you to have brought your phone with you."

"Oh, shit. No," Stan grumbled. "I left it in Jimbo's house, with my stuff. I knew it was Cartman in the backyard, so I didn't feel like I needed to bring it out."

"Then all we have to do is wait." Kyle informed, a little more confident now. "Cartman's just locking us away until he's done with whatever big plan he's got. Then he'll free us to see our reaction or something. I'm sure it'll be a matter of days before the fatass returns."

"Maybe you're right." Stan sighed. "That sounds more like Cartman. I guess we'll just have to wait for him to come back."

* * *

"Wendy Testaburger?"

"Here!"

"Leopold Stotch?"

"My name is Butters..."

"Clyde Donavan?"

"Here!"

"Eric Cartman?"

"Here!"

"Token Black?"

"Here, Mr. Garrison."

"Craig Tucker?"

Silence filled the student-infested classroom. Mr. Garrison's eyebrows raised in a questioning gesture, as he let his eyes scan the room. Most of the students patiently sat in their seats, eyes forward, ready to learn for the day. It was roll-call, and everyone had to announce their presence when their name was called. However, it was the same every morning with one particular student. It didn't take Garrison long before he found who he was looking for. Craig Tucker sat in his seat, his hat tugged over his messy hair. His right hand was raised in the air, his middle finger pointed up and at the teacher. Garrison lightly growled and temporarily shut his eyes, shaking his head.

"Craig, please excuse yourself to the principal's office. I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my classroom."

It was the same line Garrison said every day, every month, and every school year. He'd preform roll-call, and send Craig to the Principal's office halfway through. Craig always came back, though. Flipping the teacher off became such a regular thing, that hardly any of the other staff members even cared anymore. But still, Craig always obeyed the command. He slid out of his desk and crossed the room, opening the classroom door and then leaving. He'd be back in ten minutes.

"Kenny McCormick?"

"Mmph!"

"Stan Marsh?"

More silence. Garrison looked up from his little clipboard that held the list of names again, and let his eyes scan the row of desks. Most of the students were placed in their desks, but two of the little pieces of furniture, in the middle row, remained empty. Garrison's brows slowly began to knit together in a light frown.

"Huh. That's strange. Stan and Kyle are usually at school every morning." He noted out loud as he continued to stare at the desks. Perhaps if he stared long enough, they might just suddenly appear. It was a teacher's dream.

"They're probably out saving the world or something."

The voice came from Clyde, who's desk sat in the front row. He rested one of his cheeks against his hand, while the other tapped his pencil against his desk. "That always seems to happen with them." He mumbled.

There was a gasp, and then a cry from the back of the room. "S-S-Saving the w-world?! Augh, G-God! That's t-t-too much pressure! AHH!"

"Jesus Christ, calm down, Tweek." It was Cartman who spoke next. The heavier teenager sat on the very far side of the room, toward the window. He was leaned back in his seat, his legs propped up against the table, one hand behind his head, which he used as a makeshift pillow. "I swear to God, it's like, every day with that freak. Your parents need to stop giving you coffee."

"Sh-Shut up, E-Eric!" Tweek cried out, his voice ringing from the far _other _side of the room. "I-I-I h-have A.D.D.!" The blonde mess twitched and shook, shakily holding his mug of coffee to his lips as he took another sip.

"Mhm." Cartman yawned, showing his obvious boredom. "You're going to die of a heart attack, Tweek."

"If you don't die first, tubby." Token's voice sounded from next to Wendy's desk, toward the back of the room. He was sitting upright, his back straight. Though his head was down, looking at the math book upon the wooden surface of his desk. He wrote down math problems on a piece of paper.

"What did you just call me?!" Cartman's offense was obvious. His brows came together to form a furious glare. He scrambled out of his desk and began to make his way toward Token. "You wanna say that to my face again, blackie?!"

"Alright, students, that's _enough_!" Mr. Garrison finally piped up from the front of the classroom. He frowned toward Cartman's direction. "Eric, sit the Hell down, so I can continue on with my class! Unless you also want to be sent to the principal's office?"

"It's Token's fucking fault!" Cartman spat. "He started it!"

"Me? You're the one that was ripping on Tweek!" Token looked up from his book and shot Cartman an annoyed frown. "How about you stop only caring about yourself, and learn to respect other people?"

"Kiss my ass, Token." Cartman grumbled. He flashed Garrison another light glare, before slowly making his way back to his desk. The teacher in green gave a small sigh of relief, thankful that Cartman didn't appear to feel like taking things a step further. He really wasn't in the mood today. He'd only drank half a cup of coffee.

...Now he was jealous of his blonde student, for always carrying a nice cup around. Always prepared for the morning antics.

Quickly, Garrison scribbled down his students' statuses, marking both Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski as absent, before calling one of the students up to take the list to the principal. When the student left, Garrison went ahead and grabbed a peace of chalk.

"Okay, class. Today we will be discussing the cast of _Star Wars_..."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! This chapter is a bit short, and it doesn't include any romantic Style, but don't worry! The romance is on it's way, my friends! :3 If you enjoyed, leave a review! It makes me more than happy to see comments on my work. ^-^**

**(I apologize if I got any facts wrong. I am a huge South Park fan, but I know sometimes I can slip up and make mistakes.)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Six days. It's been six days, and Cartman still hasn't shown up."

Kyle's complaint came from the other side of the room, beside the latter that lead to the entrance that kept the two of them from their freedom. Stan slowly let his head rise from where it hung, and shot a tired glance in his friend's direction. Kyle was leaned against the wall, arms holding his legs, head buried into his folded knees. His bright red hair was dry and unkempt, random strands sticking out in different directions. While the boys were able to find a pair of fresh clothes for Kyle (so he wouldn't have to hang around in his pajamas), they were unable to locate a hairbrush... or even toothbrushes. They'd checked almost everywhere; pulling all the boxes from the high shelves, looking in every inch of the tiny bathroom toward the back of the shelter, yet they still couldn't find toothbrushes. ...Or soap, for that matter. There were no showers in the bomb shelter. Stan was starting to doubt that surviving in the tiny structure with his Uncle – should a time come when the world would actually come to an end – would be the best choice.

"He'll come." Stan croaked, his tone laced with obvious exhaustion. "He has to come."

"What if we're wrong, Stan?" Kyle rasped from across the room. His head raised, his green eyes burning into Stan's blue ones. The look was serious, and... to Stan's surprise, worried. "What if Cartman really _doesn't _come back for us? What if this is it? What if he just leaves us here?!" The boy's eyes widened as he began to panic, his chest beginning to quickly heave out and in as he began to hyperventilate. "We'll have to run out of food eventually, Stan! We'll starve! We'll die together, alone in here, and no one will know about us!"

Stan watched Kyle as he quickly breathed, the panic on his face ceasing to melt away, as it usually did after a couple moments. His shoulders rose and fell with the pace of his chest – the small, brown leather jacket covering him still. "I don't want to die, Stan!" He gasped.

"Whoa, dude, c-calm down..." Stan's voice slightly trailed as he watched his best friend. "It's okay. Kyle, it's okay... Just breathe, dude. Just think about this for a moment."

Kyle's eyes lingered over Stan's for several moments, but finally, he managed to look away. He cast his gaze down upon the dirty, cold ground and began to collect himself, each breath he took getting deeper and slower. The expression of panic slowly began to leave his face, melting away, leaving him almost calm and collected once more. Slowly, his shoulders fell, and his back slumped against the wall again. He left one hand on his knee, the other in his lap, and heaved a sigh. His emerald-hued orbs disappeared behind his fallen eyelids.

"I'm sorry," His lips only barely moved to mumble the words. If Kyle had been any more quiet, Stan was certain he wouldn't have been able to hear him. "It's almost been a week since we've been in this shit-hole. I thought Cartman would have come here to do whatever the big part of his plan was sooner. The longer he waits... the more I feel like whatever he's planning will be more... umm..."

"Bad." Stan finished Kyle's sentence with a simple term, for lack of a better one. He couldn't quite grasp what the phrase was for Cartman's plan. Kyle was right. The longer Cartman waited to retrieve them, then that meant it was taking him just as long to set up whatever was going on. And if it took him six days – perhaps longer, it could lead to something big and horrible. Cartman wasn't lazy when it came to impressing people.

Stan tore his eyes away from Kyle's tired figure, and let himself look around the small area they had to themselves again. Empty, half-full, and completely packed boxes lay here and there – some on their sides, others completely upsidown with canned food spilling from their openings. There was one box, near the corner, that was full of unfolded clothes. It was the same box they had dug through to find something to wear for Kyle. Going through the clothing was a nightmare, to be honest. Most of the clothes were Jimbo's size, and the rest belonged to Ned, who was several times smaller than Kyle. They managed to find a jacket and pants small enough / large enough to fit him, but the goal of finding a shirt was failed. Under Kyle's zipped-up leather jacket, he wore his same old Terrance and Phillip top.

...That was one thing about Kyle that Stan was still somewhat surprised about. They were both teenagers, long since outgrown their addiction to cartoons and toys. Though, while Stan went to bed wearing a pair of red boxers, and sometimes a very loose black shirt, Kyle went to bed in his adult-sized Terrance and Phillip pajamas (Stan often questioned why they made cartoon pajamas for adults). There was a time where the three boys stayed the night at Kyle's house (a thing they actually hadn't done in years), and Stan had to try his hardest not to go wide-eyed at the familiar cartoon-decorated pajama outfit that Kyle was wearing when he walked into the room. Kyle's argument was that one could never get over Terrance and Phillip, and he'd always have some sort of apparel that he could wear to represent being a fan. Kenny went on to call him a Nerd, Cartman was rolling on the floor laughing while he called Kyle a fag, and... you get the idea.

The raven-haired teenager slowly rose onto his feet, stumbling lightly from exhaustion. He hadn't slept for a while... he was sure it had been days since. He didn't want to miss being rescued, and he definitely didn't want to miss the opportunity to kick Cartman's fat ass as soon as he got the chance.

Slowly, he began to make his way across the room, letting his tired eyes shift left and right as he looked around the small area again. There was a box, only several feet away from him, that was almost completely empty. Inside, there were cans of chicken-noodle soup with tabs on the top, so you could pull it open without a can-opener. Beside the cans, there were white plastic forks, held in a small plastic wrap. Most of them were broken, thanks to Jimbo's excellent sense of caution, though some of them weren't too badly damaged. A little bent... but all in one piece. It was only a few moments before Stan found himself gently falling to his knees beside the box. He shoved one of his shaking hands inside and retrieved one of the cans. After handing it to his other hand, he collected one of the forks, and then proceeded to open the can from it's tiny, slim tab.

"Hey, dude, can I have one?"

Kyle's voice, which had perked up a bit, sounded from behind Stan. The male looked over his shoulder to find the other male crawling over to him. The black-haired boy gave the red-haired boy a small smile and a nod, before reaching inside the box and handing Kyle his own can and fork. Kyle returned the smile and sat, crossing his legs before setting the can in his lap. "Thanks man." He mumbled.

"Don't mention it," Stan replied. He moved off of his knees and crossed his legs like Kyle did, leaning his back against his curly-haired friend. Keeping the can close to his chest, he slowly slipped the fork inside, and boredly began to play with the noodles. He raised his fork up and twirled a single noodle through the prongs, then watched as it slipped off of the plastic-wear, and fell back into the can. He gave a small sigh.

"I wish my Uncle packed a microwave."

"If that were even possible down here, I'd agree." Kyle replied. His voice sounded less panicked than it had minutes before, but now it sounded tired... just like Stan's. Stan stiffened as he felt Kyle's back lean into his own, the back of his head resting against his. There was a pause, and Stan could only imagine Kyle playing with the noodles on his fork in a bored gesture, before letting them slide past his lips. "God damn, I hate Cartman." The Jewish boy mumbled softly, knowing it was rude to talk with your mouth full. Not that Stan minded.

"I hate him too. Son of a bitch makes life difficult." The raven-haired boy sighed and leaned back into Kyle, raising his fork again to watch a couple noodles twirl through the prongs. "I wonder what it's like... to not have an insane fatass hiding ridiculous surprises and outrageous events at every turn..."

"'Hiding ridiculous surprises and outrageous events at every turn.'" Kyle repeated part of Stan's sentence, and then gave a light chuckle. "That last part sounded rather poetic."

"I'm just saying," Stan laughed lightly, too, after Kyle pointed out his phrasing. "I don't think it's normal to have a friend that's the main cause of nearly all the problems that you've had in your life. I could name at least forty things he's done to screw us over and put us in dangerous situations."

"I know," Kyle agreed. "Cartman sucks ass, dude. Other kids probably haven't been in the kinds of situations that we've been in before."

There was more silence. This time, Stan _did _actually take a bite of his cold soup, savoring the chicken taste, as the soft noodles and broth slipped down his throat. His eyes lowered to the can, and he let himself read the title _'South Park's Chicken Noodle Soup' _over and over again. The fancy cursive writing was nicely done with black ink, against a solid yellow back-round. On the back of the can, the ingredients and calories, as well as some information about the company was labeled.

"...Do you think Kenny knows where we are?"

Stan looked away from the can, and nearly looked to Kyle when his friend asked the question. Did their other friend know where they are? Could they be sure? Stan hadn't thought about _him_ at all the past six and a half days. Did Kenny know they were missing? Did Cartman let him in on his little secret? Was Kenny _helping _Cartman?

...It made sense. All Cartman had to do was offer Kenny a couple dollars to keep his mouth shut, and Kenny would do exactly that. Just for a couple of _bucks_, Kenny would let himself give less than two shits about Stan and Kyle. For just a couple of dollars, Kenny could let the thought of his friends completely slip from his mind, and he could continue on with life. Was that what their friendship was worth to Kenny? A couple of dollars?

...Then again. Stan _did _once sell the others out for an early-generation Ipod Nano... so he really didn't have any room to talk shit about Kenny in that sort of way, did he?

"Stan?" Kyle's voice sounded from behind Stan again, this time, a little concerned. Stan realized he hadn't answered Kyle... instead, slowly loosing himself in the possibilities of Cartman paying Kenny to either keep his mouth shut, or help him out in whatever big plan he had going on.

Stan shook his head, his hair rubbing against Kyle's. He stated his honest opinion. "I don't know. It's hard to even guess if Kenny knows where we are. Cartman could pay him to keep his mouth shut, if he did know."

"But do you think he's even searching for us?" Kyle asked. "If he went missing, we'd go search for him. Would he do the same for us?"

"I don't know, Kyle. Kenny isn't exactly the faithful, enthusiastic kid he was eight years ago." Stan mumbled. He took another fork-full of noodles to his mouth before continuing. "He's the biggest drug-addicted pervert in the school. If he's not getting high off of his parents' drugs, then he's probably screwing some chick."

"Or dude," Kyle spoke with a matter-of-fact voice.

"Or dude." Stan repeated. They had only recently found out that Kenny swung for both teams. Kyle and Stan took the news fine. Of 'course they were surprised. They knew that Kenny was screwing just about every teenage girl in the school. It was very obvious, with the looks he got in the hallways... and the noises they heard from the bathrooms during third period. They couldn't say they weren't at least a little bit surprised, when they walked into Kenny's house one day, to find Butters' topless body pinned under Kenny's figure on his couch. Unlike Kyle and Stan, however, Cartman decided that Kenny's new name was "Faggot" when he heard the news. He still calls Butters "Butters", but it's more often now that he refers to the smaller blonde as a fag or gay-wad.

"I wonder where are parents think we are..." Kyle thought out loud. His head had lifted off of Stan's, and he had gone back to eating. Stan had subconsciously began to only play with his food again, once more almost loosing himself in his own thoughts. The teenager pushed the image of Kenny and Butters out of his mind, and returned to the conversation he was having with his friend. He looked to his noddles again, raising the fork and slipping the first part of it into his mouth. He wished they had spoons... so they could eat the broth, too. But they couldn't find any spoons (not in the boxes they had opened, at least), so forks would have to work.

"Like I said last week, Kyle... They probably think we're off on some big adventure again. I wouldn't be surprised if they tried calling people in Afghanistan or Peru to locate us." Stan swallowed his mouthful of noodles before he spoke, naming off only a couple of places that held some of their adventures. They had a lot of memorable times as children... though, lately, they hadn't done many extreme things. No trips to different states, countries, or even planets. No plans to break anyone out of prison, or save any Holiday Mascot from certain destruction. And certainly no visits to Imagination Land... which Stan really wanted to go back to... though it was a secret he didn't tell anyone. Life has been pretty boring for them lately. Still, he knew their parents _still _wouldn't be surprised if they _were _on some crazy adventure.

"You're right. They're probably just waiting for us to get out of whatever thing we're doing and come home." Kyle sighed. There was the sound of his can setting against the stone floor. Stan felt Kyle's body lift away from his back, and listened as Kyle's footsteps began to grow further from him. Setting down his own can, Stan abandoned his unfinished food and hoisted himself to his feet, stiffling a small yawn before turning to Kyle. The normally green-hatted boy stood before the latter, his hands on his hips as he stared up toward the entrance of the bomb-shelter.

"There's got to be another way out of here." Kyle said, speaking more to himself than to anyone. Stan raised an eyebrow and watched as Kyle studied the entrance.

"No... No, I don't think so, dude. I know my Uncle Jimbo. He doesn't usually have surprises... especially not hidden ones. If there was another way out of here..." Stan paused his sentence and looked around, making sure he was correct. "...it'd be more noticeable."

"We have to get out of here, Stan. Cartman is taking too long. And I am just about ready to _kill_ for a change of clean clothes, and a shower." Kyle turned to look back at Stan, and then looked to the box of cans at his friend's feet. "...And a hot meal, too. I don't like living off of cans of cold chicken-noodle soup, and peaches."

Stan looked down to the box himself, and gave a small huff. He lightly kicked the box, nudging it just a little ways away. Inside, the few cans that were left rolled around and bumped into each other, making a light clashing sound. "I'm sure my Uncle Jimbo packed different foods," He stated. "I can't imagine him just surviving off of chicken-noodle soup and peaches. He isn't that kind of person."

"You know what I could really go for?" Kyle asked.

"What?" Stan asked back.

"Coffee."

"Coffee?"

"Yes, coffee." There was a yawn. "If I'm honest, I really wouldn't mind a cup of Mr. Tweak's coffee. I mean, I know it tasted like sewage, but it really did put some energy in whoever drank it."

"'Fresh Coffee' my ass." Stan muttered, remembering Tweek's father, and how he was always commenting on how fresh and good his coffee was, with all the "peaceful" metaphors that drove everyone who heard them insane. "Anyway, Kyle, you don't need coffee. Look around. This place is really small. What would you need the energy for, anyway?"

"I don't know. I just don't like feeling tired all the time." Kyle replied. "I mean, all we can do is sit around. I haven't gone on a walk... or even ran in almost an entire week. I miss gym period in school. I hate our gym teacher, but God-damn, getting exercise every day was a lot better than just sitting around and doing nothing."

"Yeah, I guess I know what you mean." Stan sighed. His head tilted up, and he looked around again, letting his eyes scan over the shelves full of boxes. "...Maybe Uncle Jimbo has some instant-coffee in here somewhere. We can just add water. It'd be cold... and black, but it's better than nothing, right?"

He didn't wait for an answer before he made his way to one of the shelves that surrounded the room. He gently lifted onto his tip-toes as he snagged one of the boxes on the third shelf from the top. Though he was very tall, the top shelf was too high for him to reach. The boys had yet to discover just what exactly lay in the boxes on those high shelves.

Stan rested back onto his heels again, and gently set the box onto the ground. Kneeling down, he began to scratch at the tape on the sides of the box with his fingernails in an attempt to get it open. He had nothing sharp to just cut the tape with. It had been like that with every box he had opened so far.

There was the sound of footsteps, and not a moment later, Kyle was at Stan's side, reaching up to grab a box of his own. "Though that sounds disgusting, I guess it's worth a look." He said. "We've gone through most of the boxes, but not all of them. I'm actually really curious to see what's in those boxes on the top shelves."

"Yeah. Too bad we can't reach them." Stan mumbled. He continued to pry the tape from the box, his nails making a scratching noise against the paper material. He continued to work, prying and peeling the tape from the box. He didn't notice Kyle set down his own box, and then stand again, becoming silent as he thought. He only noticed Kyle's sudden change, when the Jewish boy grabbed Stan's arm and pulled him up off the ground. Stan sent a look toward Kyle's hand, before up at Kyle. He raised his eyebrow with a silent question.

"Get on my shoulders," Kyle stated simply.

Stan's eyes widened a little. "Uh... what?"

"Get on my shoulders!" Kyle repeated. He slightly turned and pointed toward the top shelf closest to them. "We can reach the top shelf if we increase our height. I can hold you up, while you snag one of the boxes. It'll be a piece of cake, dude!"

"I don't know..." Stan looked up toward the shelf, and then at Kyle's hand again, which had yet to let go of Stan's arm. He reached up with his free hand to scratch the back of his neck. "I mean, it's a great idea and all, but..." He looked at the ground, and gave a nervous swallow. "Falling and smashing my head against a hard floor doesn't exactly seem like fun..."

Kyle scoffed. "Fine. If you're too chicken to climb up on my shoulders, then I'll just climb on yours. ...That should work better, anyway. I'm smaller than you, and you're heavier than me," He finally let go of Stan's arm, but instead, grabbed Stan's shoulders and lightly pushed down. "Here, get on your knees so I can climb on."

"Kyle!" Stan gasped. He looked up at Kyle, and searched his emerald eyes for a hint of sarcasm. But all he found was hope and seriousness in Kyle's gaze. He was completely serious. Stan swallowed again. "I don't think your head hitting the ground will be very fun either, dude. I don't want to be trapped in here with a dead body."

"Oh, come on!" Kyle groaned. "I'm not going to get hurt. I trust you not to drop me, dude. And even if you did, I'd just flip myself over and not hit my head against anything. It'll be fine." Kyle lightly frowned. "Come on, Stan. I really want to get to those boxes. Just... get on your knees really quick, and let me climb on."

Stan winced as he felt Kyle's grip tighten on his shoulders. He looked up toward the top shelf, and then to the floor again. This could end badly. ...Then again, they'd done way crazier stuff before. If he just stood really still, he wouldn't drop Kyle. His friend was right. It'd be easy, and in the end, they'd discover what was in the boxes on the shelves.

Stan looked up to Kyle, and nodded. "Okay, Kyle." He agreed.

"Sweet!" Kyle lightly cheered, and gave the grin he usually showed when he was happy for excited. This caused Stan to also grin. He lightly laughed, and kneeled down when he felt Kyle's hands press against his shoulders again. Kyle made his way behind Stan, and the raven-haired boy stiffened as he felt the red-haired boy begin to climb over him. It wasn't long before the smaller teenager's legs draped over Stan's shoulders, and he sat comfortably against Stan's back. He gave a very gentle kick to Stan's chest with the back of his heel. "Okay, you can stand up now. Don't drop me."

Stan began to stand, very slowly. He kept his hands firmly pressed against Kyle's thighs as he began to rise into the air. The both of them were a bit wobbly at first – Stan not being used to having someone on his shoulders, and Kyle not used to being off of the ground. But after a couple seconds after Stan stood, the two began to feel more confident. Stan moved closer to the top shelf, and Kyle practically leaned against it as he moved to grab one of the boxes. Stan patiently waited, staring down at the ground as he struggled to get used to Kyle's weight.

"Okay, I have one of the boxes. ...It's really heavy though, so be careful. Just back away from the shelf and kneel down."

"Okay." Stan obeyed Kyle's request and began to step away from the shelf. He let his head tilt upward as he backed away, watching the shelf slowly grow smaller as his feet moved. He gave a light chuckle and looked up to Kyle, who had apparently been staring right back at him. There was a small smile on his face, and he gave a light laugh. "Okay dude, that's enough. You can kneel now. We're far enough away from the shelf."

"Awh, don't you like being up this high?" Stan asked. He gave a teasing smirk as he stopped backing away. Kyle's smile faded, and his face slightly hid behind the box in his arms.

"Ha... ha... ha-ha. Very funny, Stan. N-Now seriously, let me down."

"But you're having so much fun!" Stan laughed at Kyle's reaction, and began to walk around the room. Kyle gasped and tightened his legs against Stan's head as he raven-haired teen began to walk.

"N-No, no! Stan! Seriously, dude! Let me down right now!" He gasped. "Come on, dude! Stop it!"

Stan continued to walk circles around the room, stealing more and more glances up toward Kyle as he walked. Eventually, he didn't look at where he was going as he took his steps, just staring up at Kyle instead, watching his reaction grow more worried. Kyle went from looking around, to looking to the box, and then to Stan again. He looked panicked, but at the same time, he looked slightly... amused. Like he was enjoying being carried around on the boy's shoulders.

"Come on, Stan! Let me down!"

"No way, dude. This is too much fun."

"Uhh... Stan..."

"Kyle, just enjoy being up there! I can tell you like-"

"Stan, watch out!"

Suddenly, Stan felt the front of his foot slam against the side of a heavy, solid box. He gave a loud gasp as his body began to fly forward. Out of instinct, he let go of Kyle's legs and moved his hands out in front of him, planning to catch himself as he hit the ground. Above him, he could hear Kyle yell. His legs slipped, and he felt the male roll backward. Stan quickly hit the ground, his body hitting the floor with a small _thud_. Beside him, the heavy box hit the ground with a much louder _thud_-like noise. It landed only one or two inches away from Stan's face. The boy stared at the box with wide eyes, his chest deeply rising up and down as he tried to overcome his brief panic attack. He continued to stare at the box. If the box had moved any closer to him, his head would have been reduced to a bloody pancake. He pictured the image, and nearly shuddered with disgust.

...Then, the realization kicked in. With a soft gasp, he tried to lift himself. He had to find Kyle! But he didn't get too far, before he noticed the weight pressing against his back. Stan slowly turned his head to the other side, and found himself staring into Kyle's wide green eyes. His head was draped over Stan's shoulder, and he too was overcoming the brief panic attack.

Stan gave a very short, nervous laugh, continuing to breathe deeply. "Uhm... Y-You okay, dude?"

"I-I'm fine..." Kyle stammered. "J-Just... just fine."

"A-Are you sure?" Stan asked. Sudden guilt began to sink into him. "I am so sorry, dude. You were right. I should have stopped when you told me to. I could have hurt you. Oh God, Kyle, I'm-... Kyle?"

Stan was interrupted by the sudden fit of laughter from the red-headed boy. The laugh was soft, at first. Like the nervous chuckle Stan had. But it quickly grew into something louder, and deeper. Kyle's eyes snapped shut as he laughed, his lips quivering. Stan raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Kyle?"

"Oh.. My... God, Stan! Y-You should see the look on your face!" Kyle laughed loudly. Stan shifted uncomfortably. "You looked _so _damn concerned... that was hilarious. Oh my fucking God..."

Stan's jaw dropped slightly. Okay, so Kyle was fine. That was good. He wasn't in any sort of harm. ...And he found Stan's worry for him extremely amusing. His face? Stan raised his hand and felt his face... just to make sure nothing was on it... or nothing happened to it in the fall. He hadn't hit his head, and thank God, his face felt normal. ...So what the Hell?

Kyle slid off of Stan and sat up, crossing his legs and holding his stomach with his hands. His head tilted downward, the huge grin ceasing to leave his lips. His chest shook as he loudly laughed, his voice echoing off of the walls of the bomb-shelter. Stan lifted himself off the ground and into his own sitting position, and continued to watch Kyle with a confused expression.

"Kyle..."

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Kyle wheezed lightly as he tried to control his laughter. He covered his face with his hands and began to take deep breaths. He slowly began to calm down, but still lightly chuckled as he finally took his hands away from his face again. He looked up to Stan, his green eyes glinting with amusement.

Stan shook his head. "Look, Kyle, I'm sorry..." He almost whispered as he spoke, absolute guilt beginning to take over all of his feelings. "You told me to stop, and I didn't stop. I almost dropped you. I'm sorry."

Kyle's chuckles faded, but there was still a smile left on his face. Stan gasped as the Jewish boy leaned forward and snatched Stan into his arms. Their chests crashed together, and Stan stiffened as he felt Kyle's arms tighten around him. The red-head's chin rested atop of his shoulder.

"Umm...Kyle?" Stan whispered.

There was a light chuckle, and then a sigh.

"I'm fine, Stan."


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: The following chapter contains heavy offensive language, and may not be suitable for sensitive readers. If you're not used to the South Park humor and/or don't like it, then please don't read this fan fiction. If you are not a fan of Yaoi or this particular pairing, then please don't read this Fan Fiction. If you're a perfectionist who insists that the author must get absolutely everything right or it's the end of the world, then PLEASE don't read this fan fiction. XD  
***I do not own any of the mentioned characters. All characters belong to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.*****

**Chapter Five**

"It's fucking freezing, dude."

Kyle tiredly cracked one eye open as the familiar voice invaded the dark silence. The tone was muffled, and laced with exhaustion. Kyle understood why Stan sounded so tired. They had been trapped inside the bomb shelter for weeks, and... he honestly couldn't remember the last time he had slept. Between the anxious wait for Cartman's presence, and battling the cold that the Bomb Shelter offered _all the time_, it was hard to get any rest at all.

It had been so long since Cartman had trapped Kyle and Stan in the bomb shelter. So long, that Kyle was beginning to loose track of how many days it had been. Twenty-one days? Twenty-three? The numbers were just beginning to mix together and fog up in the redhead's mind. The lack of human contact and exercise was definitely having a negative effect on both of them. Kyle longed to be in his warm house again, sitting on his nice sofa and watching TV with his family, like he had done maybe about a month before. He missed the sun shining down on himself whenever he was outside. It had been so long since they had seen the sun. Their skin got paler and paler by each day, loosing more and more of their natural peach-like color.

The weeks were rolling, and the seasons were changing. November was quickly turning into December, and the winter in Colorado only got colder, and colder. With each passing day, the bomb shelter's freeze only got worse and worse. Kyle often found himself rubbing his arms and shivering, his teeth clattering together, and his toes curling closer to his feet. His body had been working extra hard to create warmth, and sometimes, it'd work too hard, and Kyle would ware himself out. It was difficult, living in a situation like this.

"I know." Kyle finally responded to Stan's complaint. His own voice was muffled, as he dug his face deeper into the thin blanket draped over his body. There were no sleeping bags in the bomb shelters. Kyle and Stan had gone through every box... including the ones on the high shelves (that they had found a way to reach, thank God). Going through the boxes wasn't a complete waste... though they only found the two thin blankets to provide warmth, they _did _find more food to keep them fed. They also found the basic lovable hygiene products, which Kyle was completely _overjoyed _to find when they did (this consisted of toothpaste, toothbrushes, a couple bars of soap, and THANK GOD, several shampoo and conditioner bottles. Kyle was thankful that Stan's Uncle Jimbo had at least installed a working sink in the bathroom).

Two thin blankets wasn't enough to keep them warm. Stan let Kyle take the thicker one, and even then, the blanket wasn't thick enough to keep him even _slightly _warm. Nights were the worst for Kyle. He shivered and shook and couldn't get a single ounce of sleep, no matter how hard he tried. He eventually rose at dawn, turned on the light, and continued on with living the boring lifestyle he had been living for weeks. And now... with the month venturing deeper into winter, the cold was beginning to be too much for his body to handle.

"Cartman's never coming back."

Kyle blinked at Stan's sudden remark. Slowly, the redhead turned onto his side, facing the raven-haired teenager. Stan was laying flat on his back, blanket up to his nose, eyes staring up at the darkened ceiling. Kyle could only barely see his friend's silhouette through the darkness.

"We don't know that, Stan..." He spoke softly, trying to reassure the older boy. "Cartman could come back..."

"Kyle, the only thing that kept me thinking that the fatass would come back, is that he may have had something huge planned for us. But it's been... how long has it been, Kyle?! It's been so long, that we've lost count of the days!" Kyle could just barely see Stan throw his arms up into the air. His whispering tone raised to a regular one, further invading the darkened silence that was interrupted minutes ago. Kyle didn't need the light to see Stan's face, to know that the boy was frowning. "Face it, Kyle, he's never coming back." He sighed. "We're stuck here. We're fucked."

"Don't say that, dude." Kyle spoke up, raising his voice into a normal tone, instead of a hushed whisper. "Cartman could just have something really, _really _big planned, that takes a _lot _of time..."

Stan chuckled sarcastically. "Right." He mumbled. "I know Cartman likes to impress people, but seriously, he's never taken more than a month to do anything that's important."

Kyle thought for a moment, searching his mind for a response. Something that could reassure Stan. Something that made sense. But nothing came to mind. His friend was right. Cartman was taking too long to come get them again. His true intentions could have possibly been to just leave them there, and... go insane. If _that _was that sick bastard's plan, then it was working. It was a bit out of character for Cartman... and the plan _was _a bit strange and childish, but it was working, anyway.

"So let's find a way out of here, Stan..." Kyle's voice returned to the hushed whisper that people normally did when it was night. He pictured Stan raising an eyebrow toward Kyle's response.

"What do you mean?" Stan asked. The sound of blankets shuffling followed after his question as the teen turned onto his side. He sent Kyle a questioning blue-eyed gaze as he waited for a response.

Kyle tried to find Stan's eyes, but it was too dark to see. Instead, he just picked a spot on the shadow of Stan's face, and stuck to looking at that, just picturing he was looking his friend in the eye. "There has _got _to be a way out of here." He spoke slowly. "Your Uncle Jimbo wouldn't just trap himself in a bomb shelter. He's not _that _stupid-"

"Don't be so sure, dude." Stan interrupted. "He may not be as stupid as our parents, but he's pretty dumb."

"...Anyway. I'm sure he made a way to get _out _of this fucking thing. The entrance doesn't have a handle for us to use to open the shelter. It's clear that it was only meant to be opened from the outside." Kyle raised one hand into the cold as he gestured with his hand, even though Stan probably couldn't see. "So if that's the case, then there must be a way out somewhere_ else _in this bomb shelter, that would lead us to freedom. There's _gotta _be a way, Stan."

Stan took a couple silent moments to think about Kyle's theory before speaking. "That may be true," Stan said. "There should be another way out of here. Maybe one of the walls can push in or something... like the movies, you know? Or maybe there's a trap door somewhere."

"Exactly!" Kyle agreed. A small, excited smile was beginning to tug at his lips. "Okay, so let's try to sleep tonight. And then tomorrow, we'll search around for a way out of the bomb shelter. If we look hard enough, we'll find it."

"Sure!" Stan decided. There was a pause. "I don't know how I'm going to be able to sleep tonight, though... it's really fucking cold."

Kyle slowly nodded, and shifted again, so he was laying on his back. "I know... it's freezing." He sighed. "Too bad your Uncle didn't pack any sleeping-bags or more blankets or something..."

"I wish he had." Stan's voice lowered into a whisper again. The exhaustion in his tone was beginning to creep back. "I'm going to call my Uncle if... _after _we get out of here. He needs to know that this sort of thing isn't going to work, if he ever needed to actually use a bomb shelter."

"Do you think he found a house with a bomb shelter in Denver?" Kyle asked suddenly, letting his curiosity get the best of him. There was a hum from Stan's direction.

"Maybe. It's obvious he found a place up there, since he hasn't rescued us." There was another pause. "I wonder what our parents think we're doing..."

Kyle stared toward the direction of the ceiling, but all that greeted his eyes was the quiet, unforgiving darkness that loomed over him during the nights. Kyle was constantly thinking about his friends and family. He'd gone over the options they could have assumed for him. Perhaps they thought he ran away... or perhaps they thought he was dead. Or maybe they knew _exactly _where Kyle was, and for some reason, they were just fine with letting their oldest son sit there.

...Now that was a scary thought.

...But of 'course it couldn't be true. His parents would never do something as cruel as locking their son up in a bomb shelter, and then leaving him there to rot. His parents cared about him. They didn't think like Eric Cartman did. But why _did _Cartman decide to throw Kyle into the bomb shelter? Sure, he could expect Cartman trying to do that sort of thing to get rid of him, yes... but there had to be some other reason behind it. Kyle must have done something to piss off the plump brunette. But it'd been a while since Cartman had stuck them in the shelter in the first place... Kyle couldn't quite remember any recent pranks or aggressive acts he'd pulled on his enemy.

Kyle softly exhaled through his nose, and tucked his bare face under his blanket. The cold from the room continued to nip and bite at his cold skin, causing him to shake and shiver more than usual (much like his friend Tweek, who never seemed to stop shaking and shivering). It was too cold, and it was more than obvious that the thin blanket wrapped tightly around him wasn't going to make him warm. Even through the tight pants and jacket he wore (still with the pajama top, unfortunately), the cold easily made it's way through the seams and attacked his skin. He was sure his skin was beginning to turn blue, by this point. He longed to have a second blanket to help make himself warmer, but that would require stealing Stan's blanket, and he wasn't about to let his best friend freeze more than he already was.

...However... sharing was always an option...

Kyle blinked a couple times, as he let the idea roll through his head. He pictured himself and Stan, sharing the two blankets they had for warmth. With their bodies just a little too close together, shirts and skin rubbing against each other as they tried to get warm. The heat would rise in both of them, and if they were close together, their body heat would just grow bigger and keep them both warm. While the idea seemed like it would be effective and perhaps keep out a little bit of the cold, it was also...

Incredibly gay.

...But technically, it wouldn't be _gay_, right? Last time Kyle checked, he was pretty sure he was straight, and Stan was his best friend. All they would be doing is sharing each other's blankets and body heat for warmth. And then, in the morning, they could separate and be fine again. Totally not gay.

...Right?

Kyle let his eyes slide to the left, head tilting slightly as he tried to steal a glance at Stan. The raven-haired teen was still on his back, the bottom half of his face covered by the blanket, while his eyes (Kyle could only guess, since he couldn't really see Stan's face) were looking toward the ceiling. It shouldn't have been awkward for Kyle to ask Stan what he thought about the idea, but... he found himself going speechless every time he tried to open his mouth to even form words.

_I shouldn't ask. _Kyle interrupted the silent debate going on in his mind, as he let himself look toward the currently invisible ceiling again. _Stan would think I was gay if I told him my idea. That's stupid. This is stupid. Fuck the cold... _Kyle softly grumbled at himself, holding his arms tighter together as he tried to warm his body again. All his fingers met was the freezing sleeves of his leather jacket. He gave a light shudder. This wasn't going to work out.

"Hey... Kyle?"

Stan's voice suddenly invaded the cold silence again. His tone was a bit muffled, from the blanket that hung over his mouth. Kyle turned his head again and looked to Stan once more. This time, he actually managed to find the teen's blue eyes, which were staring right back at him.

"What's up, Stan?" Kyle asked, keeping his own tone soft. Stan was probably going to ask another ridiculous question about Cartman or something. With all the talking going between them, Kyle was sure he wouldn't get any sleep tonight. ...Not like he ever got any sleep anymore anyway...

"I... was thinking..." There was a pause from Stan (again...). His voice had lightly wavered, as if he was trying to decide whether whispering or talking was better for himself. Finally, he stuck to whispering, and continued. "Uh... you know, it's _really _cold..." Another pause. "We only have two blankets..." Pause. "I was thinking... erm... wondering if maybe..." Pause. "We could... uh..."

"Share?" Kyle finished for his friend, eyes a little wider than they were before. Well. This was unexpected.

There was a stumble in Stan's words for a moment as he tried to speak, but eventually, he got his sentences straight. "Yeah... how'd you know I was gonna say that?"

"Um..." Kyle looked back toward the ceiling again, raising one of his hands into the cold before letting it slide to his neck, scratching it nervously. "Besides from you being totally obvious, dude... I kind of had the same idea... it's really fucking cold..."

"Oh..." There was, for the millionth time, another pause from Stan. The room was met by silence once again, as Kyle shifted nervously where he lay. He wasn't sure what to say next... or how long it would have been before Stan was going to speak. It seemed to be forever, before his friend's voice finally spoke up again.

"Well... uh... h-here..." There was a faint rustle from Stan's direction. Kyle raised his head and glanced toward the older boy, only just _barely _seeing Stan's arm raise, along with his blanket, giving access for the redhead. Kyle wanted to stop and think about the idea again first, but he didn't allow himself a chance to have second thoughts. Quickly, he pulled his blanket off of himself and scoot closer to Stan. Stan dropped the opened part of the blanket over Kyle's body while Kyle reached forward and grabbed his own blanket, draping it over the two of them. For several moments, they lay like that, sides rubbing together while both of them awkwardly stared at the ceiling.

"Kyle..."

Stan's voice sounded softly from Kyle's side. Kyle didn't look at Stan, but gave a short "hmm" to let Stan know that he was listening.

"Uh... Nevermind..."

Kyle kept in a sigh and slowly let his eyes slip shut, hoping that maybe now, he'd be able to get some sleep.

* * *

The office was at it's usual sound rate... a little quiet, but still chatty, and a little fun. From where he sat, the Chief of Police watched his co-workers walk this way and that as they went about their business. Most everyone wore a blue suit with a gold badge pinned to their chests. Of 'course, most of the cops were men, but even a few women walked by, each stride they took showing purpose as they made their way to wherever they were going. Down upon his desk, the Chief of Police had several different papers scattered all over the surface, each requiring his immediate attention. However, the middle-aged man had been doing paperwork all night, and he knew he needed to give his mind a break. In his right hand, he held a white mug full of hot coffee, which he continued to sip from as he watched the office go about their business. Yep, it was a normal day at the Police Station, like always.

"Sir..."

Except for the fucking kid with his underwear around his pants startling the hell out of him each time he showed up.

Now covered in scalding hot coffee, the police-man loudly yelped, and reached for the white cloth at his feet. He hurriedly patted the cloth against his white (well, brown now...) shirt and spun around, eyes locking on the kid that was perched in his opened window.

"God damn it, Mysterion! Every fucking time!" The man snarled as he tried to rid himself of the hot coffee that was burning his chest. "I swear, you fucking wait until I'm drinking hot coffee to scare the shit out of me."

Mysterion's eyebrows were narrowed in his usual glare as he watched the man try to soak out the hot coffee. While watching the man flip out was absolutely hilarious, now wasn't the time for jokes. Mysterion continued to crouch on the window's edge, and when he was sure the man was listening, stated his apology.

"Forgive me, sir." Mysterion grumbled softly. "But this visit is extremely important."

"Well, what the fuck do you want?" The man snapped, obviously grumpy now.

Mysterion reached into his pocket and pulled out two folded photographs, which he handed to the man when he was ready to receive them. The man slowly opened the photographs and let himself look at them, before glancing back to Mysterion.

"Kyle Broflovski and Stan Marsh?" The man asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why'd you bring me pictures of circus-runnaway faggots?"

Mysterion kept himself from wincing at that term, though he didn't stop himself from letting his expression turn slightly annoyed. The man's irritation slightly faltered, and he mumbled a soft apology.

Mysterion sighed and pointed to the pictures. "Sir, I happen to be very close with the boys in those pictures. Kyle Broflovski and Stan Marsh had absolutely no intention of joining the circus. They don't find it interesting, and they never have..." (If you don't count the one time they hung out with the quintuplets for a little while...) "If they were to go join the circus, they would have told Eric Cartman and Kenny McCormick, sir. The notes they left for their parents... that wasn't their handwriting. Their disappearance in November wasn't their own choice. I've been waiting for a while, but I've finally come to a conclusion."

The man folded the pictures again, and instead of giving them back to Mysterion, slipped them in his pocket. He looked up to the hooded Avenger again.

"What are you saying, Kid?"

Mysterion frowned. "Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski didn't run away, sir." He said softly. "They were kidnapped."

* * *

**Hey guys! I am SO sorry for the long wait for this chapter! I got super busy, and didn't really have a lot of time this past week and a half. But I'm back to my regular schedule, and ready to write some more :3. This chapter was really short, I know, but we're finally making progress in the story with the romance and such, so at least there's that! :D I wanted to thank you all SO MUCH for the story follows and the reviews! The reviews and feedback is what keeps me going with these stories. It really means a lot to me, guys, so thank you! I'll try to get the next chapter out soon, please forgive me if it takes another little while (it shouldn't, though). You guys are the best when it comes to patience. :3**


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter Six**_

**Warning: The following chapter contains heavy offensive language and may contain adult themes that may not be suitable for sensitive/young readers. If you're not used to the South Park humor and/or don't like it, then please don't read this fan fiction. If you are not a fan of Yaoi or this particular pairing, then please don't read this Fan Fiction. If you're a perfectionist who insists that the author must get absolutely everything right or it's the end of the world, then PLEASE don't read this fan fiction. XD_  
_***I do not own any of the mentioned characters. All characters belong to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.*****

The bomb shelter being quiet was never really a surprise. There was never anything _in _the bomb shelter, and it was hard hearing the quiet things that reside outside it. However, with the shelter's temporary residents, the current sounds that invaded the lonely silence was the quiet, slow and peaced breaths of two teenage boys, lost deep within the comforting waves of sleep. It'd been forever since the two of them were actually able to close their eyes and dream... and now, recollecting their thoughts and gaining back their energy was important.

The first one to wake was Stan. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep, but the feeling of being refreshed and ready to start the day in a good mood was evidence that he'd been asleep for a while. As his light blue eyes fluttered open to reveal the world that surrounded him, his gaze was only met by unpleasant darkness. Instead of the usual morning light that seemed to make a lightless room glow during the early hours of the day, Stan only awoke to the discomfort of the darkness, with the heavy seal of the bomb shelter that kept out all natural light. It was a bit upsetting that he hadn't been able to see the natural light from the sun, but he'd been awakening to pure darkness for so long... he was used to it.

However, through the freezing temperatures that caused his body to shake and shiver way more than it ever should have been able to, he wasn't used to the odd, unfamiliar, soft and warm pressure against his torso. In fact... he'd never felt something like this before.

At first, he was still, his body slowly growing tense as he realized that there was something new. And in South Park, something new was almost always something bad. His first few thoughts were _'Oh God, I have cancer!' _or _'Shit, I'm about to be eaten by some giant creature!'_. But the longer he lay there and thought about what could have possibly been on him... he realized that the pressure wasn't some_thing_.

It was _someone_.

His body grew tense still, as he began to list off the people that could have possibly been laying against him. The fog of sleep was still clearing in his mind, but... it wasn't long before he realized that the only one who was even in the bomb shelter at all with him was...

_'Kyle.'_

Slowly, worried that if he'd do anything, something bad would happen, he raised his right arm up, and gently brought it to his chest. His skinny fingers made instant contact with the soft red locks of Kyle's curly hair. The Jewish boy didn't so much as stir... instead, bury his face deeper into the soft cloth of Stan's shirt, and wrap his arms tighter around the ebony-haired boy's chest.

Stan began to freeze up as a million questions began to flood his mind. Why was Kyle cuddled up against him? WHEN had Kyle cuddled up against him? HOW LONG had they been in that position? And most importantly... why the Hell hadn't Stan noticed when Kyle curled against him, head on his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, when he did it in the first place?

Stan tried moving away from Kyle's grip, but was only met with the irritating fact that Kyle was _really _strong when he was asleep. Kyle's arms didn't budge from Stan's chest. If anything, Kyle wrapped himself even _tighter _around Stan's body, one leg drifting over one of Stan's own. There was a soft, sleep-filled, content sigh from the redhead, before he went completely still as he was dragged deep under sleep again.

Stan lightly bit his lower lip as he tried figuring out what to do. If Kyle would wake to see himself cuddled against his best friend, it would make things really, _really _awkward. The usually green-hatted boy probably didn't even know what he was doing. He was probably dreaming about being back at home, to the comfort of his own bed and blankets.

Then, the raven-haired boy remembered the candles. The lights in the bomb-shelter were on while the two were awake, but luckily, Stan's Uncle Jimbo was smart enough to pack some candles and matches, just in-case the electricity went out, if there ever came a time where the bomb shelter would be put into use. Kyle and Stan had been using the candles during the nights, if they ever needed to get up for something, and didn't want to bug the other person with the brightness of the lights on the ceiling. Stan convinced himself that this was a time for candles, as he gently reached out and snatched one of the white sticks, and the heavy, small box stuffed with matches.

With the flick of Stan's wrist, with the skinny, wooden stick in his fingers, the match was lit, creating a tiny glow in the middle of the darkness. Stan carefully moved the match to the candle and lit the whisk of the candle on fire. The glow grew a little bigger, but stayed a small flame, still producing enough light to be able to see things close by. Stan gently rested the candle against the ground and blew out the flame on the match, before gently propping himself onto his elbows. Even with the movement of his body, Kyle still didn't wake. He kept a tight hold on the boy, as he continued to rest his head against his chest.

Stan tiredly let himself look around what he could see of the room, before letting his gaze flick to his friend's dimly-lit face. Kyle's eyelids had come together, his eyes rolling around under them as he dreamed. His pale skin showed the faintest red coding against his cheeks. His lips were lightly parted, twitching every once in a while, to show, again, that he was dreaming.

Stan couldn't help but stare at the boy's face, noting how calm and peaceful he looked. Kyle was enjoying the needed sleep that he hadn't been able to get in days. The two thin blankets draped over them only just barely came up to Kyle's shoulders. His small, brown leather jacket had slowly begun to slip off of his shoulders, exposing his now usual Terrance and Phillip pajama shirt. Part of his curly red hair had fallen over his face, covering the right side.

A slow smile tugged at the corners of Stan's lips as he watched his friend sleep. Even though Kyle was holding on rather tightly to him, the way he was acting _was _kind of cute...

Wait. _What?_

Stan's eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. He made a soft, uncomfortable grunt and quickly looked away, his pale face quickly flushing red. Had he _seriously _just thought that to himself? It was creepy enough as it is, being too much of a pussy to wake his friend up and then watch him _sleep_, but now he was saying that Kyle was _cute_? What the HELL was wrong with him?!

Stan let his eyes slowly drift back to Kyle's sleeping face again. The boy's arms had begun to slightly loosen around Stan's chest. The way Kyle slept there, nuzzled against his shirt, making soft sleeping sighs... it was... cute.

_No._

Stan quickly shook his head, and gently began to slip Kyle's arms away from his chest. The redhead only lay limp in Stan's hold, not even stirring as the raven-haired boy gently pushed Kyle onto his side. Kyle's back was now to Stan, his face hidden by the shadows.

Stan couldn't believe himself. He quickly shook his head and stood, grabbing the candle as he made his way toward the light switch. He tripped at first, not exactly ready to be up and moving (since he just woke up), but he forced himself to walk straight as he made his way to the wall.

He'd called his friend cute. _Twice_. He'd let Kyle's head rest against his chest with his _arms _wrapped around him. He watched Kyle _sleep_, for Christ's sake. It was creepy! Stan couldn't really figure out what the Hell was the matter with himself. He'd never thought of Kyle as cute before. Sure, he had thought that Kyle was funny, or a really good friend to hang out with. They could almost do anything together. But calling Kyle cute was _not _normal and _not _just a "close-friend" thing.

...This didn't mean he _liked _Kyle, did he?

...No, of 'course not! He'd known Kyle all his life. If he liked Kyle, then he would have already figured it out a long time ago. He was sixteen years old, and Kyle was only a year younger than him. You can't start having feelings for someone if you've known them for _that _long and not felt anything before. ...Right?

Stan shook his head again as he turned on the light, watching the bright glow light up the room. Kyle remained asleep in the corner, clearly unaffected by the darkness' sudden disappearance. He curled up tighter in the two blankets he now had to himself. Stan watched from a distance, eyes trailing over Kyle's covered back, and messy red hair. Messy red hair, with those soft curls that bounced cutely wherever he-...

'_Stop it!' _Stan, for the third time that morning, shook his head again as he tried to push the image of Kyle's amazing red hair out of his mind. It was morning (well, actually, that was debatable. They didn't have a clock, and thanks to not being able to see the sun, they couldn't really tell what time it actually was), and Stan was probably just still half-asleep, and thinking the weird thoughts that everyone thought when they first woke up. It was just something little. Stan would get over it. ...Besides, today was going to be busy. Today, they were going to break out of the bomb shelter and return home. He could take a nice hot shower, reunite with everyone he'd been missing (he even missed his sister, which was something he never thought he'd admit to himself), and then kick the crap out of Cartman before reporting him to the police. He had no time to worry over what he _may _have been thinking about his best friend. Today was important. Today would lead to his freedom.

Stan abandoned his thoughts of Kyle, and instead, blew the candle out, set it on the ground, and moved to one of the boxes of food. Getting onto his knees, he rummaged through the box before finally plucking out a can of peaches. Moving from his knees to his ass, he sat with his legs crossed (Criss-Cross-Apple-Sauce, as his kindergarten teacher had taught him before he accidentally helped burn her alive), and put the can in his lap. Undoing the tab, he tossed the lid of the can to the side, and plunged a plastic fork into one of the pieces of peach. He raised his fork up to his face, eyeing the small piece of fruit on the plastic prongs curiously, before slipping it past his lips. The piece of peach easily slid off of the fork, rolling around between his teeth before slipping down his throat. Stan lightly hummed at the sweet peach-flavor on his taste-buds, before moving the fork back into the can.

There was a light, sleepy groan from the corner of the room. Stan quickly lifted his head up, darting to Kyle's waking figure. The redhead was in a sitting position now, head tilted down toward his chest, allowing his red hair to fall in front of his face. He gave a light yawn, stretching his arms out in front of him, before letting them fall into his lap again. His head slowly tilted back up, his eyes flicking to Stan.

Stan, for some reason he really wasn't sure of, quickly looked away, suddenly finding his peaches very interesting. He delivered another forkful of peach slices into his lips again, before giving a soft "morning, Kyle" to his friend.

"G'morning, Stan!" Kyle's voice was rather bright and sing-song like. Stan looked up again, and watched as Kyle, now on his feet, began to approach him. His curls bounced with each step that he took, and it was all Stan could do to _not _think about how cute his friend's hair looked.

Kyle plopped down next to the black-haired boy and began to go through the box himself, before pulling out his own can of peaches, and his own plastic fork. He didn't even glance at Stan as he hungrily tore off the lid to the can and began to scarf down the peaches. Stan couldn't help but notice Kyle eat rather quickly, watching as he took in forkful after forkful seconds before the last. He lightly tilted his head to the side, and raised an eyebrow. "Dude, what's the rush?" He asked. "You're acting like you haven't eaten in weeks."

Kyle looked up to Stan, his cheeks slightly puffed with the food that he was chewing. Stan couldn't help but think of Cartman and his fat face. Stan refused the urge to softly laugh.

"I'm sorry, Stan." Kyle spoke after he was finished eating the peaches that were in his mouth. He let the fork drop into the half-empty can between his crossed legs. "I'm just really excited about getting out of here. I just _know _we'll find an exit! There's got to be one around here somewhere, and we'll turn this place upsidown looking until we find it!"

Stan smiled at Kyle's happy confidence. "You woke up in a good mood this morning, I guess." _If _it was morning. How would they know?

Kyle's emerald eyes lit up, and after eating another forkful of peaches, he responded. "Yeah, dude!" He grinned widely. "I feel great! I haven't actually slept for more than twenty minutes in days. It was nice to be able to rest. I guess that second blanket really made it warm enough to sleep."

Stan's smile fell, and he looked away, red covering his cheeks again. So it was confirmed. Kyle had _no _idea of what he was doing while he was asleep.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

Kyle must have noticed Stan's smile fall, because after only a couple moments, his voice piped up again. "Is something bugging you? You don't seem as happy as I am this morning."

Stan took a bite out of the peaches in the can and lightly shrugged his shoulders. He kept his gaze away from Kyle. Of 'course he wasn't going to tell his friend about what happened only twenty minutes before.

"I'm fine, Kyle." Stan responded, forcing his voice to seem a little happier. He tilted his head up to look at Kyle again. "I'm just not too confident that we'll find the exit."

LIE. That was a lie. He just told a lie to his _best friend_. Stan could picture his father now, dark blue eyes seriously staring into his son's as he coached him on lying. _'Don't look away, don't scratch your neck, and don't touch your ear.'_

Stan winced a little at the thought. That was the day they lied and cheated about the car-making kit in the Pine-Wood Derby competition. The little lie they told got another boy's father killed, and got the whole planet locked away from the rest of the universe. Yup... lying was so the right thing to do.

Kyle's smile was sincere... and reassuring. Gently, the redhead reached over and patted Stan's shoulder. Stan tensed, feeling the now-familiar warmth of Kyle's hand.

"Don't worry, dude." Kyle continued smiling, his tone a bit softer. "Even if we don't find it today, the progress we'll make will bring us closer to finding the exit. We're going to get out of here, Stan. And when we do..." Kyle smirked. "We'll kick Cartman's fat ass so hard, he'll never fuck with us again."

Stan's smile reappeared on his face. He gave a light laugh and nodded. "You're right, dude. We'll find a way out of here, and make Cartman pay. Everything is going to be okay again."

Kyle lightly laughed and took his hand away from Stan's shoulder. Stan watched as his friend rested the can of peaches against the ground, and stood. He raised his arms over his head, giving a small stretch before looking around. His eyes darted around the room, the light from the ceiling almost making them glow. "Hey uh, Stan?" He asked curiously. "Where did we put that box of Ned's clothes?"

"...Ned's clothes?" Stan asked, now curious himself. He raised an eyebrow. "Uhh, over there," He gestured with his hand, to the box of clothes that was only a little ways away from them. "Why do you need Ned's clothes, dude?"

Kyle slipped off his leather jacket, tossing it to the side as he made his way to the box. The jacket soundlessly hit the floor, abandoned and quickly forgotten.

"I'm getting sick of these clothes," Kyle grumbled. "I know most of Ned's clothes are too small for me, but there's got to be _some _sort of shirt in here that I can replace my pajama top with. I don't really want to go home to my family in my Terrance And Phillip clothes."

"How come? It's just Terrance And Phillip..." Stan mumbled.

"Dude, you know my Mom hates that show," Kyle looked over his shoulder as he spoke, approaching the box. "She doesn't even know that I still _own _my Terrance And Phillip pajamas. If she realizes I do, she'll get pissed and want to take me shopping."

Before Stan could reply, Kyle opened up the box of Ned's clothes and bent over, beginning to go through the box, tossing out different articles of tiny clothing. Stan tried to focus on his peaches – Oh God, he really did try – but the fork didn't pass his lips again as he let his eyes roam over Kyle's ass. It was almost as if Kyle was purposely _teasing _him, wiggling it back and fourth as he tried to find something in the box that would fit him. Stan was thankful that he was turned away, and couldn't see the expression on his black-haired friend's face.

Kyle went on to talk about something that had to do with getting out, but Stan couldn't pay attention. He was almost hypnotized, unable to tear his eyes away from Kyle's body. Finally, the Jewish boy stood straight again, holding a small back shirt in his hands. Stan was finally able to look away and looked to the shirt, watching as Kyle tried to stretch it to make it a little bigger.

"Do you think it'll fit?" Stan asked. He immediately regretted asking the question, his whole face flushing red. He got a half-smirk from Kyle. "I-I mean..." Stan stammered. "O-On you. D-Do you think the shirt will fit on you?"

Kyle laughed, rolling his eyes at Stan's sudden embarrassment before shrugging. "I dunno," He said honestly. "We'll just have to see."

Gently, Kyle tossed the shirt back into the box, before reaching down and pulling his Terrance And Phillip Pajamas over his head. Stan's jaw lightly dropped as he watched the shirt leave his body, exposing his light-colored chest. Kyle's muscles seemed a _lot _more noticeable than before. Kyle stood there for a moment, staring down at his Terrance And Phillip pajamas as he pondered whether or not he should actually try wearing Ned's shirt. He lightly rolled his shoulders back, his shoulder blades sticking out before hiding back into his back again. Stan almost couldn't take it. His eyes roamed up and down Kyle's lean figure, taking in every piece of beautiful soft skin and-

_'Ah!' _Stan mentally screamed at the thoughts going through his mind. He forced his gaze away, forcing himself busy himself with his peaches as he tried to push more thoughts of his shirtless friend out of his mind. Sure, he'd seen Kyle shirtless before. It wasn't a regular thing, but there wasn't exactly a way to hide yourself in the boy's locker-room at school. But for some reason... looking at Kyle now seemed... different. There was a need in Stan. There was something he wanted from Kyle. Something he felt _for _Kyle. He didn't know what it was, and...

_It was driving him fucking insane._

"Stan? Are you even here right now?"

Stan quickly looked up to Kyle's confused face again, but found himself looking at the redhead's chest. The black shirt was now hiding... _most _of him. It was a little loose, which was strange for something like Ned's clothes, and it didn't come down all the way. Kyle's stomach was completely exposed. The shortness of his shirt almost looked like something the skimpy girls wore at school... with shirts that only barely passed their chests. Except, Kyle's shirt was only a little longer.

"It's a little short, but it actually feels better than the pajama top." Kyle spoke as Stan observed the shirt. "Ma won't be too happy with it, but it's better than her finding out that I still have Terrance And Phillip stuff." His head slightly tilted to the side. "What do you think?"

Stan quickly nodded. "It looks gr- fine!" He silently scolded himself. How embarrassing would it have been if he told Kyle that the short shirt looked "great" on him? "It looks fine. You'll be able to change back when you get to your house, anyway. Your Mom will understand."

"Yeah," Kyle sighed. He lightly smiled again, picking up his shirt and letting it fall into the box. "I can't wait to get back home. I miss my family."

"Me too..." Stan mumbled. He put his peaches on the ground and stood, lightly stretching his arms. "I was thinking earlier; I even miss Shelly. I know it sounds kind of hard to believe."

"No, dude, I get it." Kyle replied. "I mean, Ike and I aren't that close anymore... but I miss him, too."

There was a sad look in Kyle's green eyes. Stan understood. Kyle and Ike had been growing distant the last few years. Ike was growing up, and so was Kyle. They were both entering different stages of life, and couldn't really share the same interests anymore. Ike was _just _beginning to understand girls, and Kyle was thinking about what college he wanted to go to in just a couple years. Stan knew that it bugged Kyle to know that he and his little brother were growing apart. Stan occasionally had to remind the redhead that it would get better, and they'd grow a bond again.

"Yes, I think the house is perfect! Joshua, sweetie, we definitely need to move in!"

Stan looked to Kyle, but Kyle's lips were still. Kyle was looking at Stan with the same expression. There was a voice. A voice that didn't belong to either of them. The voice was muffled, and a bit hard to hear, but it was _there_.

Slowly, both of their eyes widened, and they glanced toward the entrance of the bomb shelter. The two of them grew absolutely quiet, and absolutely still.

"Yes, darling, the house is beautiful! And Melissa really seems to love it."

"I can picture your little family really enjoying living here, Mr. Rogers. The man who owned this house about a month back lived here for several years. He's finally had to give it up for something else, but, he told us personally that this was the best home he'd ever lived in."

"Well, we'll take it, Mr. Reed."

Stan looked to Kyle. Kyle looked to Stan. Both jaws were dropped. Both eyes were wide. Both bodies were shaking.

Kyle screamed. Stan screamed. They shoved past each other as they bolted for the latter. Stan reached the metal structure first, taking hold of the bars as he quickly, yet carefully scrambled up the steps. Kyle was right behind Stan, screaming as loud as he could. When they reached the top of the latter, Stan reached up and pounded on the lid of the bomb shelter. He used one hand to tightly hold onto the latter so he wouldn't fall.

"Hey! Open up! There are two boys in here!" Stan yelled, slamming his fist as hard as he could against the door.

Kyle squeezed next to Stan's side, forcing Stan to move over just a bit. He screamed loudly and slammed his own free hand against the door, keeping another hand safely on the latter.

"Please!" He cried out. "Please! We've been stuck in here for... we don't know how long! Just get us out of here!"

"Can you hear us?!" Stan yelled. "Hey, let us out!"

* * *

The sun was shining high in the sky, casting a golden-like glow against the empty space. Big, fluffy white clouds formed shapes in the imagination of children as they floated on by. From the ground, in the cold green grass covered by three feet of snow, a young girl stood, watching the clouds as she gently played with a strand of her long blonde hair with a pink-gloved hand.

Her parents were walking back to the back deck of the strange, unfamiliar house, chatting away with the House Salesman that had driven them there. The salesman wore a nice suit and had a big, friendly, flashy smile that made any costumer feel safe and welcomed wherever they were taken. However, the girl had remained in the back yard, given permission to wonder about, since they were going to buy the house anyway.

The yard was empty and unfenced, but that didn't stop the young girl from imagining a big playground, with a slide and a swing-set sitting only a little ways away. Maybe, if she played her cards right, she could convince her parents to put in a play-place for her. Her parents usually gave into her wishes... as money was never really a problem for her family.

Her eyes continued to scan the backyard... eventually landing on a snow-covered lump in the ground. At first, she expected it to be just a pile of snow that would cave in once she got on top of it, but... as she reached her hands out to touch it, she was surprised when her hands slipped through about an inch of snow, and met a metal bar.

Curious now, the girl began to sweep the snow off of the structure, to reveal a giant handle. Under the handle was a giant... lid-like thing.

And under that, to her surprise, were voices... voices calling for help.

"Hello?!" They screamed. Their voices were muffled and faint, but hearable. "Are you there?! P-Please, Jesus Christ, let us out of here!"

The girl tilted her head at the door, listening to the frantic voices and the faint banging that followed. For a moment... she almost felt like responding... but she decided to keep her voice to herself. Instead, she reached out and grabbed the handle. She tried to pull – only to discover that the bar was too slippery to fully grab onto. She lightly frowned and put her hands on her hips.

"Melissa!" Her mother's tone called from the back deck of the house. "Come on, sweet heart! Nice Mr. Reed is going to drive us home so we can start packing up our things!"

Melissa turned to look toward her mother, who was gesturing to return to her with her hand. Melissa lightly shook her head.

"Mommy, I think I hear-"

"Come on, honey!" Her father commanded, eyes focused on a paper that he was signing. "Let's go. We'll be back. You can check out the shelter again when we return tomorrow, okay?"

Melissa lightly pouted, but she obeyed. Shoving her hands into the pocket of her purple coat, she trudged through the snow as she made her way back to her parents.

* * *

The voices were gone. Whoever had been close to the bomb shelter had been called away, and... now the voices were gone. Stan's eyes were lit with panic as he tried to listen for anyone that still could have been there. But there was no one. They were alone again.

Beside him, Kyle's breaths began to become heavy and quick. Was he... hyperventilating?! That wasn't like Kyle! Stan looked to his friend, lifting his hand to rest on the Jewish boy's shoulder.

"Kyle..." He whispered. "Kyle, it's o-"

"GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!" Kyle screamed. He raised his arms and pounded them against the lid of the bomb shelter.

...Raised his arms.

...His arm_s_.

Stan gasped and reached out to grab Kyle, but it was too late. Kyle gasped as his body tilted backward, feet slipping, falling from the latter completely. Stan heard Kyle scream as he plummeted down. As his body roughly hit the floor, there was the sound of a bone cracking... and then silence. Kyle lay, limp and motionless on the ground. Stan's eyes were wide and his jaw was dropped again.

"...K...Kyle?" He called out.

No answer.

"Kyle?!"

No reply.

"KYLE!"

**Noooooooooo! Kyyyyyyyyyyyle! T_T**

**This would be the part where I'd think the author was a horrible person for hurting one of the characters and then ending the chapter on a cliff-hanger, buuuuuut... I'm the author, so I guess I can't really be mad at myself... XD**

**But noooooooo! Kyyyyyyyyyle! T_T**

**The next chapter is coming out soon, guys! Thank you so much for your patience and support! The story probably wouldn't be going on if it wasn't for you guys. The reviews and positive feedback keep me going. You guys are so great! ^-^**


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter Seven**_

**Warning: The following chapter contains heavy offensive language and may contain adult themes that may not be suitable for sensitive/young readers. If you're not used to the South Park humor and/or don't like it, then please don't read this fan fiction. If you are not a fan of Yaoi or this particular pairing, then please don't read this Fan Fiction. If you're a perfectionist who insists that the author must get absolutely everything right or it's the end of the world, then PLEASE don't read this fan fiction. XD_  
_***I do not own any of the mentioned characters. All characters belong to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.*****

The lunch break period was probably the most student-favored period out of all the class times at South Park High. A nice break from difficult math equations or harmful science chemicals was always needed and necessary. It didn't matter what class they were in; each student was always eager to leave the boredom or struggle of the learning environment and escape to the outdoors, where they had thirty minutes of precious free-time to clear their minds and get a breath of fresh air.

However, this wasn't the case for Eric Cartman.

The chubby teenager strode through the empty halls of the High School, his head held high and his shoulders broad to show that he was walking with pride and purpose. His usual light blue hat sat snugly on his head, the little yellow poof-ball bouncing up and down with each heavy and quick step he took. His hands were shoved deeply into the pockets of his warm red jacket. It wasn't the same jacket that he wore when he was a child. While he'd outgrown that one, his mother had arrived home one day with an adult-sized version that fit him perfectly. He was the only one out of his friends who still had an outfit that almost looked exactly the same as the outfit he wore when he was younger. Everyone else had gone on to different styles and fashions (especially the girls, who seemed to change their outfits half way through the day during school now), while Eric remained the same.

Reaching his planned destination wasn't very difficult for Eric. He'd usually expect teachers to be patrolling the hallways and telling him to go outside and leave the safety of the warmth on the inside of the building, but an emergency meeting had come up that required all staff attention, so the hallways and outdoors had been left unsupervised (and leaving high school students unsupervised is never a good thing). As his pace began to slow in preparation for a halt, his eyes left the white tile of the floor, and instead lifted to meet the familiar red locker against the left wall. As he got closer, the little white sticker posted in the top right corner of the locker door was easier to see, the number "126" being labeled with tiny black print.

He stopped in front of the locker, pulling his gloved right hand from his pocket and snatching the tiny lock in his fingers. He moved quickly – having done this for a couple years now – putting in the code and popping off the top of the lock. The lock made a tiny _clink_-like noise and unlocked, allowing Eric to open the locker and dig around inside. The locker was neat for the most part (which is a bit surprising, seeing how Eric was the locker's owner, and Eric had never really been tidy before), books stacked in a nice order, and pencils being held in the pencil jar in front of his books. On the side of his locker door, there were mini _"The Passion" _posters pasted here and there, featuring the actor Mel Gibson. There was also another poster, a very small one in the bottom right corner, with a picture of his favorite superhero. Underneath the picture of the superhero, the caption showed _"Who is the Coon?"_. Eric lightly smiled to himself. Hardly anyone had figured out the Coon's true identity.

It wasn't long before Eric found what he was looking for. He gave a small relieved sigh, air exhaling through his nose as he pulled out his skinny Science book. He wasn't relieved that he had his Science book and thus wasn't prevented from learning. He was relieved that he had his Science book in his locker after all, and didn't have to get detention for leaving it at home again. He was always leaving important school things home (because he didn't care about school), and his punishment for leaving things home would be detention. And he'd much rather be at home, peacefully playing video games than be at school an extra two hours being yelled at by the school counselor.

The brunette sighed again, letting his left hand fall to his side, fingers tightly holding onto the book. With the other hand, he grabbed the locker door and began to shut it. Well... began to, until he practically suffered from a heart-attack when he closed it just enough to see a blonde figure leaning against the lockers, arms crossed and smirking at him with mischievous blue eyes.

Eric jumped with fear toward the unexpected company, taking a couple of steps away from the locker as he tried to calm himself down. The science book had somehow made it to his chest, where both of his arms wrapped tightly around it, as if the text book was giving him some sort of comfort from the unexpected scare. After he was able to calm down, he sent an angry amber-colored glare toward his visitor's direction.

"You couldn't have let me know you were there, instead of waiting for me to find out for myself, asswipe?" Eric gave a shaky, breathless grumble.

The blonde only snickered. "But you're so fun to scare, Cartman!"

"You could have given me a heart-attack, dick." Eric walked up to his locker and slammed it shut, popping the lock back into place. "What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be off doing... whatever it is you do during lunch break?"

"Yeah, well, I would," The blonde shrugged and tilted his head back against the locker, glancing up toward the ceiling. "But Red is off doing some school council thing with Wendy, so I don't really have anything exciting to do right now."

Eric raised a brown eyebrow. "You're committing to one chick, Kenny? Damn dude, that's impressive."

Kenny scoffed. "I never said I was committing to that bitch." He said. "I just can't find any other chicks to bang, and I left my magazines at home, so I'm stuck with you."

Kenny lifted himself off of the lockers, straightening his rumbled dark red shirt. He'd long since overgrown his orange parka... and since his family was too poor to afford more clothing, Kenny had received Kevin's hand-me-downs. The shirt didn't look too well on him, but it was better than being shirtless in the cold. Even if Kenny preferred no clothing at all... he'd rather use his brother's old scruffy clothes instead of be cold. So now he wore his brother's clothing, and his little sister, Karen, wore Kenny's orange jacket.

"Stuck with me?" Eric rolled his eyes. "I thought you were bi, Ken? Just go hang out with Butters or something, like that one ti-"

"Oh, shut up." Kenny mumbled, his cheeks coding a light red. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looked around, checking to see if there was anyone in the hall that could have heard Eric. When he was confident no one was around, he let himself relax a little.

It was Eric's turn to snicker. "You are such a fag, dude."

Kenny didn't reply. He was looking around again, but this time, it didn't seem like he was searching for other people. Eric could tell his mind was on something. His smile had fallen, and his expression turned a little serious than it normally was. His body had stiffened slightly. Whatever the blonde was thinking about, it clearly wasn't a good thing.

"You okay?" He asked. It wasn't that he was concerned for the blonde. He was just curious as to what made Kenny change his attitude so quickly. It wasn't like the blonde to look too serious. ...It was a couple moments before Kenny looked back to Eric. Slowly, he leaned his back against the wall again, and shook his head. He cast his gaze toward the ground.

"I miss Kyle and Stan." He said softly.

Eric stiffened. Kyle and Stan. He hadn't thought about the two of them in a while. How long had it been since he'd locked them up in that bomb shelter? Eric searched his mind for the amount of time. Weeks? A month, maybe? He honestly couldn't remember. It'd been a little while.

A soft sigh came from Kenny, as the blonde decided to continue. "It just doesn't make sense, Cartman. Run off to join the circus?" He looked up to the chubby brunette. "Wouldn't they have told us about their plans, or... or even try to convince us to go with them? They've hardly ever left us out of something like this."

Eric slowly leaned himself against the locker, keeping his eyes on Kenny. Subconsciously, he began to nervously tug and push at one of the corners of his Science text book. He cleared his throat. "Stan and Kyle have always been super close, Kenny. Closer than we've ever been with them," He reminded the blonde. "This was probably just some personal thing that they wanted to do together. Maybe... maybe they didn't really want to be around us anymore anyway."

Kenny looked up to Eric, and tilted his head to the side. "Why would that be?" He asked. "They really like being around us. ...Or me, at least. I don't know about you." He waited for Eric to scoff before continuing. "They would have told at least one of us... like us or not. ...Cartman..." Kenny, again, lifted himself off of the locker, and took a couple steps into the middle of the hallway. He turned back around to look at Eric, who was still nervously rested against the lockers, watching him carefully. "I don't think they ran away. I think someone kidnapped them."

Eric's eyes went wide. "What?!" He asked. Kenny looked surprised at Eric sudden outburst, but he let it happen. Eric continued. "Dude, no way they were kidnapped. I mean, think about it, Ken. If they were kidnapped, then there would have been some sort of... sign. You know? Like a ransom note from the kidnapper or something."

Kenny opened his mouth to object, but Eric cut him off. "Plus, they would have found a way out by now. Lots of stupid shit has happened to us, Kenny. But we've gone through it in less time than it's been taking them." Eric pushed himself off of of the lockers. He walked forward, letting go of the textbook in his arms with one hand, and gently resting it against Kenny's shoulders. He looked him in the eyes. "Kenny, you need to let them go. I miss them just as much as you do, but keeping the memory of them with us won't bring them back. They've made their choice, and it's time we've accepted that and let it go."

Kenny was still for a few moments... but then slowly nodded. Inhaling, and then deeply exhaling, he gave a light smile to Eric, before shrugging his hand off of his shoulder. "You're right, Cartman." Kenny spoke softly. "Wherever they are, they're happy. And if that's what they want, then we should leave it at that."

"Exactly." Eric grinned, relief washing over him. "I'm glad you understand, Kenny."

_Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!_

Eric and Kenny both stole a glance toward the speaker on the wall as it emitted a loud ring. It was the signal for the lunch break, meaning that the period was over, and it was time to move onto the next class. Kenny looked back to Eric and gestured to the textbook in the brunette's arms.

"We should probably head to class. You have Science this period, right?" He asked. Eric nodded. Kenny grinned. "Me too," He replied to the silent response from Eric. His deep blue eyes lit up with his usual excitement. "I hear we're going to be blowing stuff up today."

Eric's own eyes lit up with excitement. Blowing stuff up was always one of his interests. But before he had a chance to respond, a sudden, familiar voice came into earshot, causing him to almost give another startled jump. Kenny saw Eric's reaction and grinned again, obviously amused.

"Eriiiiiiiiiic!"

Eric rolled his eyes, turning to the right, allowing his eyes to fall upon the second blonde racing toward him. The familiar light blue turtle-neck sweater was wrapped tightly around his body, his darker blue scarf draped over his shoulders. A pair of thin black glasses sat on the ridge of his nose, his light blue eyes brightly glowing behind them.

Eric rolled his eyes. "Hey, Butters." He said, his tone almost robotic with dullness.

"Heya Eric!" Butters widely smiled as his pace slowed to a halt. His arms hung loosely at his sides, though his fingers played with the bottom of his shirt. "Your next class is Science, right?" He asked. "The teacher is going to let us blow stuff up today!"

Kenny laughed. "I know, dude! It's gonna be awesome!"

"Yeah," Butters nodded. "Anyway, that's not what I'm here for. Eric," He turned toward the brunette. "Do you remember Jimbo? Stan's uncle? The guy that moved to Denver a couple weeks ago?"

This caught Eric's attention. He turned fully towards Butters, crossing his arms over his chest again, his book tucked between the two. "Yeah?" He asked. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I know you told me to keep an eye on the place..." Butters said slowly. Eric nearly flinched, and avoided the curious look he received from Kenny. "And guess what? A nice little family just bought it! They're moving their stuff in today, I think."

Eric's casual attitude fell completely. His eyes widened for the second time that day, as he eyed Butters for any bullshit. But Butters looked absolutely serious. He was even smiling a little, too, but that was normal for the short blonde.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Eric whispered.

Butters shook his head. "No, Eric, I'm being serious! A nice family. A woman, a man, and a little girl. They really like the house."

Eric quickly shook his head. "Noooo, no no no." He mumbled lightly.

Kenny raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong with a family moving there, Cartman?"

Was that a hint of suspicion in Kenny's voice? Oh, shit. Not fucking good. Nope. Eric quickly turned to Kenny. "Ah! No," He said quickly. "Nothing's wrong. Just..."

"Just... what?" Kenny asked. Behind him, students began to descend down the halls, eager to get to their classes before they were late. Eric watched the students as they approached... and then quickly turned around and grabbed Butters' hand. Butters gave a startled yelp when he was suddenly yanked out of the spot he stood in, and dragged down the hall. Eric walked quickly, keeping a tight grip on Butters' as he made his way toward the exit of the school. Behind him, he could hear Kenny's voice, but it was quickly drowned out in the chatter of passing students.

"E-Eric, where are we going?" The small blonde asked, trying to keep up with Eric's quick pace. The brunette didn't reply for a moment, weaving past a group of students as he aimed to get to the end of the hall. When the group of students finally passed and they were at least somewhat alone, Eric whispered a reply.

"We're going to Jimbo's old place. We _cannot _let that family move into that house."

* * *

**Okay, so this chapter isn't as nicely-written as the other chapters... and it's also really short! I apologize for that. It's short and not as nicely-written, because I was being distracted while I was writing this. Still, I gave my best at the time I WAS writing this chapter, and I hope you guys enjoy it all the same.**

**Oh God, Cartman, what are you going to do now? X_X**

**Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews and favorites! As mentioned before, if it hadn't been for you guys, then this story would have been quit a long time ago. I really appreciate your guys' feedback. You keep me going! ^-^**

**(Curious as to who the author is? Have some questions or feedback about the fan fiction? Bored and want to make fun of someone for your amusement? Well, you can find ITNOA's Skype information here! noloveforrainbows)**


	8. Chapter 8

_**Warning: The following chapter contains heavy offensive language and may contain adult themes that may not be suitable for sensitive/young readers. If you're not used to the South Park humor and/or don't like it, then please don't read this fan fiction. If you are not a fan of Yaoi or this particular pairing, then please don't read this Fan Fiction. If you're a perfectionist who insists that the author must get absolutely everything right or it's the end of the world, then PLEASE don't read this fan fiction. XD  
***I do not own any of the mentioned characters. All characters belong to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.*****_

**Chapter Eight**

The soft hum of the small vehicle's engine was the only thing that filled the uncomfortable void of silence. A young blonde sat in the leather passenger seat, his clothed chest slowly rising and falling, as his baby-blue eyes looked beyond the foggy windshield. Tiny snowflakes slowly fell from the sky, coating everything in the cold, familiar snow that seemed to always be covering Colorado. The skies, which were once blue with a big, golden sun hanging in it's space, was now a light gray, dark clouds covering the sun and the rest of the sky. It was obvious a storm was coming.

"We're supposed to be in school right now..." Butters' soft voice interrupted the lingering silence inside the car. His tone was soft and smooth, yet unsure... and a bit frightened. Butters had always been a nice boy – one who was afraid of breaking the rules and getting in trouble. Though he was used to the consequences (either caused by himself or other people), he never _liked_ breaking the rules and being different. Following the laws that have been set for him, and listening to what people tell him to do was the right thing to do, and he knew that he should always follow that code. But, unfortunately for Butters, he had a big heart, and there was one personal rule that he basically _lived_ for.

Always help others, no matter the circumstance.

It didn't matter who needed his help. Good guy, bad guy, or even an animal. Butters knew that his purpose in life was to help people. And even if that put himself at risk for being grounded, Butters was willing to do anything to put a smile onto someone's face. Helping people was a good deed, and made him feel good inside. So no matter what, no matter who, Butters would always help a person in need.

"Fuck school."

...Even if it was someone like Eric Cartman.

The chubby brunette sat in the driver's seat of his dark blue Lexus, both gloved hands firmly set on the steering wheel. His amber-hued eyes flicking back and fourth between his dashboard, and the road. His expression remained serious... maybe even a little frightened. His brows were slightly knitted together to form a light frown. Against the wheel, his right thumb repeatedly tapped against the smooth leather, giving off the impression that he was a bit anxious to get to their destination. Butters knew better than to ask about his feelings, though. Eric hardly ever opened up to Butters, and when he did, he was usually lying.

"School is important, Eric..." Butters spoke softly, reminding his dark-haired friend. "It gives us the education and skills we need to make it in life. It's bad to miss school."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Eric didn't even face Butters to speak, instead, he waved off whatever Butters was saying to him, as if it didn't matter. Butters would have been offended, if he wasn't used to it. He'd known Eric for years. Being ignored by the older male wasn't new.

Butters looked away from the brunette, and let his eyes scan over the world around them again. The snow had begun to fall faster, and the skies had begun to grow darker. The storm was rolling in quick, and they'd most likely be driving through it, on their way back into town. Butters felt a sense of unease go through his mind. He wasn't looking forward to that slippery trip.

"Eric..." If it was possible, Butters' voice had grown quieter. He didn't look at Eric (even though it was the respectable thing to do when talking to someone), though he knew that the brunette was listening. "I don't understand... how come we can't let that little family move into Jimbo's old place?"

There was silence from Eric... and when Butters realized that the chubby teen wasn't going to answer him, he continued. He spoke with a slightly louder tone, hoping that it'd catch the brunette's voice, if he really _hadn't_ been listening at all. "I mean, Jimbo has been gone for, what... three weeks? Four? You knew that a family was going to move into his old house at some point, Eric..." He dared take a peek in Eric's direction. "I mean, I don't know... what's the point of watching his house, and stopping people from taking a look at it? I mean, c'mon, Eric. This little family is really nice. You should give them the start they want to a new life here in South-"

_**"NO!"**_

Butters gave a small gasp and jumped, startled by Eric's sudden, booming tone. He inched closer to his door, almost pressing himself up against it as he watched the brunette with wide eyes. Eric's foot had slammed down onto the petal, causing the world outside to become a blur as the car sped down the snow-covered road. His hands held onto the steering wheel so tightly, that his knuckles were beginning to turn white. His glare had deepened. Butters kept his mouth mashed shut, scared to say anything more. He forced his gaze away from Eric and toward the road again, trying to calm himself by gazing at the falling snowflakes. Silence had invaded the air again, leaving Butters even more uncomfortable than before.

"We _CAN NOT _let that family move into that house, Butters." Eric spoke from his side of the car again, though he was met with silence from the young blonde. He continued, anyway. "It is _very _important that we don't let them move in. _No one_ can live there. There is something at that house that I don't want people running into."

Butters dared to peek over in Eric's direction again. He looked to be calming down, which was good. Butters' racing heart was beginning to slow to it's normal pace again. Okay, so... it was obvious that Eric wanted _no one_ living at Jimbo's old house. But... why?

The blonde gently readjusted his black glasses on his nose... a habit he'd formed on his own ever since he'd been given them. He'd needed glasses ever since he was thirteen. Without them, it was impossible to see anything. Why he'd suddenly needed glasses was a very interesting story... that would be saved for another time. For now, Butters had to focus on Eric, and try to – without causing the brunette to rage – discover his reasoning.

"What do you mean, Eric?" Butters' voice was, again, gentle. It was important that he didn't set Eric into another angry frenzy. The brunette was the current driver of the car, after all, and the blonde didn't quite feel like getting into a car crash today.

There was a small moment of silence from Eric. The fat teenager's nostrils slightly widened as he gave little sighs. His eyes began to flick back and fourth as he gazed at the windshield – possibly watching the different road signs as the car passed them. His thumb had stopped tapping the wheel, and thank God, his foot has risen a bit from the gas petal. The car drove at a slower pace... giving Butters a chance to calm down.

"Butters... when Kyle, Kenny, and I were kids, Stan took us to his uncle Jimbo's house..."

Butters lightly tilted his head to the side and watched Eric with another curious gaze, suddenly very interested in whatever story Eric was about to tell. He knew Eric had been one for lying, but... the pain in his voice... that strange, foreign emotion in his eyes... Butters just _knew_ he was telling the truth this time.

"Just like a month ago, Jimbo wanted us to watch his house for him." Eric continued, his sentences slow. "He and Ned went off to go camping, and left us in charge. He knew that the four of us together could watch the house... he even offered us ten bucks each." A small smile slipped onto Eric's lips, but it quickly faded. His eyes began to cloud with... was it nervousness? Butters couldn't quite tell. "But... the night that he left, we heard a noise. It was coming from Jimbo's basement. It was a growling sound... like a dog, but... different. The others were too scared to go investigate, so I decided to grab a flashlight and search the basement alone."

Butters began to grow more terrified by the minute. In fact, he was so wrapped in the story, he jumped when Eric caused the car to turn at a corner. The blonde's heart beat quickly in his chest. He gave slow breaths, trying to calm down... and nodded for Eric to continue.

So Eric did. "They waited at the top for me. Stan even gave me one of his uncle's guns. They thought I was brave for looking." Eric spoke bravely. "So I turned on the flashlight, loaded the gun, and walked on into the basement. It was quiet... the growling had died out. But I knew that whatever was in the basement wasn't gone. So I continued to search, venturing deep into the darkness of the room-"

"Were you scared?" Butters quickly interrupted, his voice breathy. "Did it see you, Eric?"

"If you let me finish, you'll find out, Butters." Eric's tone was laced with irritation, and he shot a quick glare toward the blonde's direction. Butters quickly shut his mouth.

"Yes, I was scared, but not the pansy kind of scared, like Stan or Kenny or Kyle. I was scared that whatever this was would bring danger to my friends."

"Wow..." Butters whispered, eyes wide with awe.

"Yes." Eric mumbled. "I continued on through the basement, shining my flashlight in different directions. ...Though... all I met was darkness. And then, suddenly, I heard rustling. Rustling coming from behind me. I turned around, but nothing was there. ...That's when it attacked."

Butters gasped. Eric ignored him.

"It tackled me to the ground, and the gun was knocked from my hand. It slid across the floor of the basement, and disappeared under a desk. All I had was the flashlight... and as I shined it up at my attacker... I finally saw what it was."

"What was it, Eric?" Butters asked, eyes even wider than before. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Eric, what attacked you?!"

There was silence from Eric. He didn't dare look at Butters... only kept his eyes on the road. His eyes were still, as if he was experiencing the scene all over again. It sent chills up Butters' spine.

"It was terrible..." Eric spoke at last, voice soft. "It had the body of a giant bear. It had four-inch claws, and... the ugliest face I had ever seen. I can still remember it's breath wafting off of it's giant, rotting teeth." Eric closed his eyes for a split second, before opening them again. "It was half man, half bear, and half pig."

Butters, who had begun to shake, rose an eyebrow in a questioning gesture. "Y-You mean ManBearPig?" He asked. "Like how Al Gore was talking about at our school assembly?"

"Yes, exactly like that." Eric said, flashing Butters another, lighter glare. "I didn't believe Al Gore either, at first. But the more I stared, the more I realized it _was _ManBearPig, and that he was going to murder me if I didn't get out of there. So I whacked him in the face with the flashlight, and took my chance to run as he let go. I bolted up the stairs and slammed the door shut. ManBearPig was outraged, and tried to get through the door." Eric sighed. "While Kahl sat in the corner like a chicken, and crying for his Mom, Stan, Kenny, and I blocked the front door with pieces of furniture. After that, we bailed, and promised to never go to Jimbo's house again."

"So wait a minute, I don't understand, Eric... how come Jimbo never mentioned ManBearPig?"

"ManBearPig brainwashed Jimbo and Ned, Butters. Duh." Eric spoke quickly. ...A little too quickly... but Butters decided to brush it off. "They had been protecting ManBearPig. But a couple months ago, they had broken out of the spell that ManBearPig cast upon them, and they also bailed. That's why they moved. They didn't tell anyone about ManBearPig. They were too scared to do anything about it."

Butters gave a small _'hmm..._', before speaking up again. "So, you don't want the family to move into Jimbo's old place, because you're worried they'd be murdered by ManBearPig?"

"Exactly, Butters!" Eric agreed. "That little girl's life is in danger. I can't risk having her be killed by ManBearPig. She'd be torn to shreads, just like..." Eric's voice suddenly grew quiet. "Just like..."

"Eric?" Butters asked, a little nervous now. "Just like who, Eric? Did ManBearPig kill someone you know?"

Eric slowly nodded. "Butters... remember when Stan went to go watch Jimbo's place while he was gone last month?"

Butters did recall... and when he did... his eyes widened. "You don't think..."

Eric gave another sigh. "Butters, Kyle and I went up to Jimbo's house to tell Stan to leave. Stan knew what kind of trouble he was in. When we... when we got there... we were too late. ManBearPig had killed Stan. We tried to leave, but ManBearPig realized we were there. He grabbed Kyle, and... and..."

The car came to a halt, in the middle of the dirt road that led up to Jimbo's neighborhood. Eric shifted the gear into PARK before burying his face in his hands. Butters sat quietly, watching Eric with his wide eyes again. Eric was _never_ one to cry. _Never_. Butters had only seen the brunette cry a few times, but... never over something like this.

Slowly, Butters reached out, and placed his hand on Eric's shoulder.

"He died before I could save him..." Eric sobbed through his gloves. "I had to leave. I bailed and told no one. Butters... Stan and Kyle didn't run away to the circus. They died. ManBearPig killed them both, and _that_ is why I need to stop this family from buying this house. It's my fault Stan and Kyle are dead, and damn it, I'm not going to let it happen again."

Butters gave a slow nod and continued to pat Eric's back, in hope of giving him some sort of comfort. "So what are we going to do, Eric?" He asked softly. "Whatever your plan is, I'll back you up one-hundred percent." He gave a reassuring smile, even though Eric couldn't see it. "I'm here for you, buddy."

Before Butters could inspect Eric's face, Eric undid his seatbelt, turned around, and climbed into the back seat. Butters watched with a confused stare as Eric leaned over the back seat and began to rummage through the trunk of his car.

"Butters..." Eric's voice seemed a bit normal now, almost as if he hadn't been crying at all. ...Butters decided to ignore it. "Do you remember the time... when we were kids, when you dressed up like a girl for us and went to the girls' sleepover to get the Future-Telling-Device?"

Butters thought for a moment, remembering how he was chained up in the basement afterward, because his parents thought he was a demon spawn. They tried to feed him a nice lady, though he'd much rather preferred Spaghettios.

He slowly nodded. "I remember, Eric."

"Well, after you went home, the fellas and I decided to destroy it. Do you remember us telling you about that?" Eric asked.

"Yes?"

"Well..." Eric pulled a box from the trunk, and sat it in the seat in front of him. He began fiddling with the lid, trying to pry the cardboard open. "We're going to do to the house, what Kenny did to the Future-Telling-Device."

Butters was hesitant. He watched as Eric pulled out a long red stick, with a fuse on the top. He turned toward Butters and grinned.

"We're going to make up for our lack of explosions in Science class today."

**WOW. Okay! This was posted four days later than I wanted it to be posted. I am so, SO sorry you guys! I am back, and ready to be back on track! I first want to apologize for the long wait: The trip was longer than I had expected it to be, and so I only got access to the internet yesterday. Secondly, I want to apologize for the chapter being so short. In the program that I write this in (OpenOffice), I usually go up to about five or six pages before calling it an average-sized chapter. However, this chapter was only four pages, and also poorly written toward the end. I was in a hurry to get it out, though, because I know you guys are dying to read more. The next chapter will be out as soon as possible... you guys definitely won't have to wait as long though. Next chapter is where shit hits the fan, so be prepared!**

**On another note: Butters, why are you so damn gullible? And Eric, why are you such an evil bastard? And why, you ask, does Butters need glasses? Well, my friends, it's a story saved for another time. (Also: If I got any facts wrong in this chapter, PLEASE let me know! I am a bit nervous about that. XD)**

**Beware of ManBearPig.**


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